


Kissing Cruelty

by LittleKnownArtist



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: 1920s elements, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Human, Arranged Marriage, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Cannibalism, Demon/Human Relationships, F/M, RadioBelle, Rating May Change, Sign Language, charlastor - Freeform, heavily references source material, mixed fantasy au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29223345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleKnownArtist/pseuds/LittleKnownArtist
Summary: Charlie had known her whole life that she was to marry the bloodthirsty demon Prince in the castle sat upon the hill. He was the demon responsible for all the strife and grief in her kingdom, him and his shadowy demons. She had been trained to kill him, but she's always wondered if she'd even be able to carry out the deed. She questions herself more when she meets him, his shadow, and learns that there's secrets about her kingdom even the Radio Demon doesn't know.Heavily based on the novel "Cruel Beauty"
Relationships: Alastor/Charlie Magne, Charlie Magne & Vaggie
Comments: 23
Kudos: 89





	1. The Radio Demon

**Author's Note:**

> In the beginning of this story, there's whole passages rewritten from the referenced book pulled from memory, so no credit to me for originality. I'm not here to profit off a silly little Charlastor fanfic, I assure you, but if you read (and adore) the book (as I do), and notice the familiarity? That's why.

Charlotte was raised to marry a monster. 

The day before the wedding, she could barely breathe. Fear twisted her stomach. All afternoon she made herself scarce within the library, running her hands over the leather spines of books she would never touch again. She leaned against the shelves and wished she could run. Runaway from her marriage, run away from the shadowed corners of even dreary libraries as children might. Children had always been told that demons are made of shadow. ‘Don't look at the shadows too long or a demon might look back.’

It was even more horrible for her family because they so often saw the victims of demon attacks, screaming or mute with madness. Their families dragged them in through the hallways and begged her father to use his magical knowledge to cure them. Some might think it cruel when Lucifer turned them away or gave only the instructions to put them out of their misery in the swiftest way possible, but the fact was that there was no cure for the madness inflicted by demons. 

Except once. When her mother carried her in her belly, she was struck down. That was the bargain made. His wife’s life, in exchange for the life of the firstborn daughter she carried. Lucifer knew who he was dealing with when he struck the bargain. Yet, when Lilith’s womb had become barren after that firstborn’s solemn welcome, it should have come as no surprise. 

And yet, his own and only daughter had still been sacrificed as a bride of the Crimson Menace, the Radio Demon, the Gentle Lord. Whatever his title, what mattered was that he was the prince of demons. 

As befit a prince, he far surpassed his subjects in power: he could speak and take such form that mortal eyes could look on him and not go mad, but he was still a demon. He was a dealmaker, who granted small favors with the return only of suffering. He was still bloodthirsty and terrible, known for devouring men and women alike who had failed to keep up their end of a deal. It wasn't something which happened often, but when it was, every citizen would hear of it through their music, twisted with the sounds of their screams and the wet sound of rending flesh and crunching bone, followed with these words spoken in his smooth tones: " **When you bargain with The Radio Demon, you must be willing to pay your dues, or I will come for every pound of flesh that is owed to me.** "

And yet, those foolish souls continued to make deals with him. Knowing that even if the deal went well, the bargain would sour, and if it didn't...he would take his pounds of flesh, and that soul would not survive the encounter.

After their wedding night, how much of Charlotte would be left?

She heard a cough and whirled around. Behind her stood her mother, long flowing hair loosely pulled back, with just the smallest wisps framing her face. Her mother's beauty was always effortless, always shining, but as she began to age, Charlotte had noticed how her smiles vanished, and her eyes steeled when she looked at her daughter. She suspected it was more to do with the days getting closer to her marriage than to Lilith's actual aging process. Lilith was trying to distance herself from her daughter. Maybe she was hoping if she did that, it would hurt less when she sent Charlotte to her doom.

"We’ll dress for dinner." She said it in the same placid, matter-of-fact way that she had said last night; ‘ _You are the hope of our people._ ’ She had said it last night, and a thousand times before. Her voice sharpened. 

"Are you listening, Charlie? Your father put together a farewell dinner for you. Don't be late." Although she may be trying to distance herself, she still used that affectionate nickname.

"Yes, mother," Charlotte--Charlie--whispered. Her father wore his red pinstriped waistcoat over his usual pale attire; her mother wore her pearls and Charlie put on her best black ruffled dress, the one with satin bows. The food was just as grand: candied almonds, pickled olives, stuffed hen, and Lucifer's best wine. Charlie's best friend had finally come to the table, today. Vaggie had secluded herself in her room for nearly a month after learning the truth of Charlie's fate, and in the months thereafter, her presence at the table had still been scarce. Charlie couldn't blame Vaggie. For the years since Vaggie had come to stay with the Magne family, after losing her own, she had known Charlie was arranged to marry, but she hadn't known who she would be marrying. For Vaggie, this was just one of many losses for her. An additional abandonment by death, whereas before Vaggie had assumed she might have been able to visit with Charlie and her future husband after she was wed.

Charlie glanced back at her father. She almost could have pretended that Lucifer was trying to show how much he loved her or at least how much he honored her sacrifice. But Charlie couldn't see it.

Sometimes the conversation lagged, and she heard the heavy tick tock of the grandfather clock in the sitting room, counting off each second that brought Charlie closer to her husband. Her stomach roiled, but she smiled wider and gritted out cheerful nothings about how her marriage was an adventure, and how she was ready to fight the Radio Demon, even if it cost her life. That last made Vaggie droop again, but Charlie leaned forward and asked her about the village girl who’d been puttering around her as of late. She whispered to Vaggie that she had heard Cherri come for her in the night, and heard through their wall that Vaggie had climbed down to meet her. Vaggie’s cheeks flushed but she shook off Charlie’s comment with a laugh.

Why shouldn't she laugh? She could marry a mortal and live to old age in freedom. The truth of it was that Charlie wanted to laugh too. Laugh because otherwise she might cry. She didn’t want this, any of it. She didn’t want to marry, she didn’t want to marry **him** and least of all did she want to kill him. Secretly, deep down inside her, she didn’t want to kill anything. As horrible as the Radio Demon was, though, she knew it must be done. 

Her left hand clenched under the table, nails biting into her palm, but she managed to smile back at Vaggie and pretend she wasn’t terrified and angry. Yes, angry. Angry that she had been the sacrifice for the foolish bargain her father had made those 20 years ago.

At last the servants cleared away the empty custard dishes. Her father adjusted his suit lapels and looked at her. She knew that he was about to sigh and repeat his favorite saying: " _Duty is bitter to taste but sweet to drink_." And she knew that he'd be thinking more about how he was making a sacrifice of his line for the sake of his people than how she was sacrificing life and freedom. She surged to her feet. 

"Father, may I please be excused?" 

Surprise caught him for a moment before he replied, "Of course, Charlie." 

She bobbed her head, "Thank you so much for dinner." Then she tried to flee, but in a moment Lilith was at her elbow. 

"Dear," she began softly. And Vaggie was at her other elbow. 

"I need her for just a minute,” Vaggie said, and without waiting for an answer she dragged Charlie up to her bedroom. As soon as the door had closed behind them, she turned to Charlie.

Charlie managed not to flinch, but she couldn't meet her eyes. Vaggie was still angry and hurt, just below the surface. 

So now Charlie stared at one of the framed cross-stitches on the wall. When Vaggie and Charlie were little, they heard fairy stories from Vaggie’s mother, and the little house stitched into this particular decoration reminded her of a little cottage in the woods. It was where they would run away from the doldrums of village life for Vaggie, and the inescapable arrangement for Charlie. They would live with the fairies, they thought. When those benevolent things were still a possibility in a young child’s mind. Coming home, Charlie always had her imagination shoved away, and was reminded of the sad reality of her existence; her purpose in life.

But when she said, "Charlie," her voice was ragged and weak. Without meaning to, she looked at her--and now she had a fist pressed to her mouth as she tried to keep control. 

"I can‘t stay here, not in this town," she said. "Not knowing, that--that you were some sacrificial lamb all--” and her voice broke. Suddenly she remembered one morning when they were ten and she dragged Vaggie out of the library because their old cat wouldn't eat and wouldn't drink and _Daddy’s magic can fix her, can't he? Can't he?_

"No." She grabbed her shoulders. "No, this is your home. We‘ve been over this. I know that there‘s nowhere else for you to go. Nowhere safe. You are, and have always been my best friend, and I want you safe and warm and cared for. The bargain was to save my mother and protect this household--if you leave it--” Charlie choked back her raging thoughts and emotions. 

"But you're going to die--" Her face scrunched with a smothered snarl. "Because of this stupid, ridiculous little town--" 

"Because of the Radio Demon’s and my father's bargain." She managed to meet Vaggie’s eyes and summon a smile. 

"And who says I’ll die? Don't you believe I can beat him?" Vaggie’s best friend was lying to her. There was no possible way for Charlie to defeat her husband without destroying herself as well. But she'd been telling her the lie that she could kill him and come home for too long to stop now. 

"I wish I could help you,” Vaggie whispered. 

"I know,” she said, remembering how Vaggie held her after they buried the cat beneath the apple tree. She was her friend, had been for most of their life, only months separated them, but in every way that mattered, she was her big sister, who had been protective of her for most of their lives. Now Charlie had to protect her--she had to.

Vaggie pulled her forward into a hug, her chin nestled against her shoulder, and for a moment the world was warm and safe and perfect. Then Lilith knocked on the door. 

"Charlie?" 

"Coming!" she called, pulling away from Vaggie. 

"I’ll see you tomorrow," she said. Her voice was still soft but she could tell she felt the trickle of resentment for the situation.

"I love you,” she said, because it was true no matter the envy and resentment for the rest of the world, and even Vaggie, that festered in Charlie’s heart. Then she left before Vaggie could reply. Her mother waited for her in the hallway, pale grey eyes turned away.

"Are you done chatting?" 

"She's my best friend. I should say goodbye.” 

“You'll say good-bye tomorrow," she said, drawing her toward her own bedroom. 

"Tonight you need to learn about your duties." She knows her duty, she wanted to say, but followed her silently. She had borne her parent’s preaching for years; it couldn't get any worse now. 

"Your wifely duties," she added, opening the door to her room, and she realized that it could get infinitely worse. 

Lilith’s explanation took nearly an hour. All Charlie could do was sit still on the bed, her skin crawling and her face burning. As she went on in her melodic voice, which could normally bring comfort and warmth to all those that listened--the _words_ \--the _explanations_ were so horrible. She’s already figured enough of _that_ out for herself, but hearing her mother speak about the things husband and wife would do, well! She could only stare at her hands and try to shut out her voice. Then came the thought that she did those things with her father most nights and Charlie turned bright as a tomato.

"And if he kisses you on- Are you listening, Charlie?" she raised her head, hoping her face didn’t betray too much embarrassment and horror.

"Yes, mother.” 

"Of course you're not listening." She sighed, carding her fingers through her long hair.

"Just remember this: do whatever it takes to make him trust you. Or your sacrifice will have been in vain." 

"Yes, mom.” Lilith kissed her cheek. 

"I know you’ll do well.” Then she stood. She paused in the doorway with a sigh, she was always so regal and poignant, but now she just sounded tired.

Charlie stared straight ahead, before reaching to turn on the radio, hoping for something jazzy to drown out her thoughts.

"Good night," Lilith said, and the door shut behind her.

She picked the magic radio off her bedside table. The top made of frosted glass and showed the inner workings above the dials. She turned it over. On the underside of the brass base were etched the swirling lines of a magic diagram. It was a simple one: just four interlocking sigils, those abstract designs whose angles and curves invoke the power of the four elements. 

With the darkness in the room, she couldn't make out all the lines--but she could feel the soft, pulsing buzz of the working's four elemental hearts as they invoked earth, air, fire, and water in a careful harmony to catch sunlight all day and power it continuously. 

Everything in the physical world arises from the dance of the four elements, their mating and division. This principle is one of the first magic teachings. So for a magic working to have power, its diagram must invoke all four elements in four "hearts" of elemental energy. And for that power to be broken, all four hearts must be nullified. She touched a fingertip to the base of the radio and traced the looping lines of the magic sigil to nullify the radio's connection to water. 

On such a small working, she didn't need to actually inscribe the sigil with chalk or a stylus; the gesture was enough. The radio flickered, its dim light turning red as the working's Heart of Water broke, leaving it connected to only three elements. 

As she started on the next sigil, she remembered the countless evenings she had spent practicing with her father, nullifying magic workings such as this. 

He wrote one diagram after another on a wax tablet and set her to break them all. As she practiced, he read aloud to her; he said it was so that she could learn to trace the sigils despite distractions, but she knew he had another purpose. He only read her horrific stories of heroes who died accomplishing their duty--as if her mind were a wax tablet and the stories were sigils, and by tracing them onto her often enough, he could mold Charlie into a creature of pure duty and vengeance for her people. 

In her head, Lilith’s words tangled with the lessons Lucifer had taught her for years to the rhythm of the music playing from the radio.

_Try to move your hips._ **Every magic working must bind the four elements.** _If you can't think of anything else, lie still._ **As above, so below.** _It may hurt, but you shouldn't cry._ **As within, so without.** _Give him a smile._ **_You are the hope of our people._**

Her fingers writhed, clawing up and down her arms, until she couldn't bear it anymore. She grabbed the radio and flung it at the floor. The crash sliced through her head, it left her gasping and shivering, like all the other times she let her temper out, but the voices stopped. 

"Charlie?" Lilith called through the door. 

"It's okay. I just knocked over my radio." Her footsteps pattered closer, and then the door cracked open. 

"Are you-" 

"I'm all right. The maids can clean it up tomorrow." 

"You really-" 

"I need to be rested if I'm going to use some of your advice tomorrow," she said in an uncharacteristically icy tone, and then Lilith finally shut the door. She fell back against her pillows. What was it to her? She wouldn't ever need that radio again. This time the cold that burned through her middle was grief, not fear. She would miss Vaggie and even her parents and maids so much, but she knew she wouldn’t be missing them for long.

Tomorrow she will marry a monster. He rest of the night, she couldn’t think of anything else.

Once upon a time, the sky was blue, not papery yellow. They say that once, if ships sailed east from Pridia, they would reach a continent ten times larger--not plunge with the seawater down into an infinite void. In those days, they could trade with other lands; what they did not grow, they could import, instead of trying to make it with complicated magic workings. They say that once there was no Radio Demon, living demons did not infest every shadow, they did not pay him tribute to keep them (mostly) at bay. And he did not tempt mortals to bargain with him for magical favors that always turned to their undoing. 

Long ago, the island of Pridia was only a minor province in the empire of Hellena. It was a half-wild land populated only by a rude, unlettered people who hid in thickets and refused to call their land anything except Angelia. But when the empire fell to barbarians--Pridia alone remained unravaged. Prince Silvanus, the youngest son of the warriors beat the barbarians, and created a great kingdom. No emperor before nor king after was ever so wise in judgment, so terrible in battle, so beloved of gods and men. They say that the god Hermes himself appeared to Silvanus and taught him the godly magic arts, revealing secrets that the philosophers of Hellena had never discovered. Some say that Hermes even granted Silvanus the power to command demons. 

If so, then Silvanus was truly the most powerful king that ever lived. Demons--those scraps of idiot malice, begotten in the depths of Tartarus--are as old as the gods, and a few have always escaped their prison to crawl through the shadows of their world. No one but the gods can stop them and no one at all can reason with them, for any mortal who sees them goes mad, and demons only desire to feast on human fear. Yet Silvanus, they say, could bind them into jars with a word, so that in his kingdom nobody needed to fear the dark. And perhaps that was where the trouble began. 

Pridia was greatly blessed, and sooner or later, every blessing has a price. For nine generations, the heirs of Silvanus ruled Pridia with wisdom and justice, defending the island and keeping the ancient lore alive. But then the gods turned against the kings, offended by some secret sin. Or the demons that Silvanus had bound at last broke free. Or (but few dare say this) the gods died and left the gates of Tartarus unlocked. 

Whatever the reason, what happened was that the ninth king died in the night. Before his son could be crowned the next morning, the Radio Demon, the prince of demons, descended upon the castle. In one hour of fire and wrath he killed the prince and rent the castle stone from stone. And then he dictated to them the new terms of their existence. It could have been worse. He did not seek to rule the kingdom like a tyrant, nor destroy them like the barbarians. He only asked for tribute and something to entertain himself, in exchange for holding his demons in check. He only offered his magical, wish-granting deals to those who were foolish enough to ask for them. But it was bad enough. For on the night that the Radio Demon destroyed the line of kings, he also sundered Pridia from the rest of the world. 

No more can they see the blue sky. Now there is only a parchment dome above them, adorned with a painted mockery of the real sun. There is only a void around and below them. In every shadow, the demons wait for the people, a hundred times more common than they were before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hermes_ ~ Greek God who is the herald or "messenger" of the Gods. He is the God of roads, travelers, commerce, flocks (of sheep) and even thieves. He's the only God who can freely pass between the three realms, the land of the dead, of mortals, and Olympus. He is sometimes depicted wearing winged sandals, which are what allows him to move freely.


	2. A Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie has the ceremony without the groom present, then leaves for his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't expect updates this close together again, Stardew Valley has taken control of my life.

When light glowed through the lacy edges of the curtains, Charlie gave up trying to sleep. Her eyes felt swollen and gritty as she staggered to the window, but she ripped the curtains apart and squinted stubbornly at the sky. Just outside her window grew a pair of birch trees, and sometimes on windy nights their branches clattered against the panes of glass; but between their leaves she could see the hills, and three rays of the sun peeked over their dark silhouette. 

The ancient poems, written before the Sundering, said that the sun--the true sun--was so bright it blinded all who looked upon it. They spoke of a colorful dawn, which painted the east in shades of pink and gold. They praised the boundless blue dome of the sky. Not so for her people. The wavy, golden rays of the sun looked like a gilt illustration in one of Lucifer's old manuscripts. Once the main body of the sun rose over the hillside, it would be uncomfortable to look at, but no more so than the frosted glass of a lamp. Most of the light came diffused from the sky itself, a dome of cream veined with darker cream, like parchment, through which light shone as if from a distant fire. Dawn was no more than the brighter zone of the sky rising above the hills.

" _Study the sky but never love it,_ " Lucifer had told her a thousand times. It wasn’t the true sky.

But it was the only sky that she had ever known, and after today she would never walk beneath it again. She would be a prisoner in her husband's castle, and whether she failed or succeeded in her mission-- _especially if she succeeded in collapsing the house_ \--there was no way she could ever escape those walls. So she stared at the pale sky and the gilt sun while her eyes watered and her head ached.

Just a few years ago, she still half believed in fairy tales, she had still hoped--not that she would escape her marriage but that first she could attend the the great university in the capital city. She had heard about the university all her life, for it was the birthplace of the Prudensi, the organization of scholars that was officially founded to further the research pf magic. She was only nine when her father told her the secret truth: in the very deepest room of the university's library, the first Magister Magnum (for which came her family’s name) and his nine followers swore a secret oath to destroy the Radio Demon and undo the Sundering. For generations, all the Prudensi had labored toward that end. But that was not why she longed to attend the university. 

She was obsessed with it because it was where scholars had first used magic techniques to solve the shortages forced upon them by the Sundering. A hundred years ago, they had learned to grow silkworms and coffee plants despite the climate. Fifty years ago, how to create gramophones and later radios which could finally be silenced when the Radio Demon took a victim, where before everything which produced sound would awaken, even if broken as Charlie had done to her radio the previous night. Music was important to the culture, but good sense would tell to get rid of any radios for fear of the bloody broadcasts, and yet…

"Good morning, miss." The voice was barely more than a whisper. She spun around to see the door cracked open and her maid Molly peeking through. Then her other maid, Niffty, tiny and fierce, shoved past her and bustled into the room with a breakfast tray. There was no more time for regrets. It was time to be strong--if only her head would stop aching. She gratefully accepted the little cup of coffee and drank it down in three gulps, then handed it back to Molly and asked for another. By the time she finished the breakfast itself, she had drunk two more cups and felt ready to face the wedding preparations. 

First she went down to the bathroom. Last winter, Lucifer had installed the new plumbing, to fix the hot water issue but for the rite she had to be washed in water from one of the sacred springs; so she shivered as her mother and Vaggie (as a semi-adopted sister) dumped ice-cold water from pitchers over her. Every so often, Vaggie frowned and gave a concerned look, as if to ask if Charlie were all right with the cold, so she clenched her chattering teeth and smiled back. Physically, yes, she would get through this. 

Once she was dry and wrapped in a robe, they went to the family shrine. This part of the morning was comforting, for she had gone into this little room to read many times before. The musty, spicy smell of candle smoke and old incense sparked memories of her childhood. The maiden’s lullaby played in her mind.

This time tomorrow she will not be a maiden, far departed from that childhood. She swallowed thickly at the thought. Next were the prayers to the Lares, the hearth gods who protect a home from sickness and bad luck, prevent grain from spoiling, and aid women during childbirth. Their family had three of them, represented by three little bronze statues, their faces worn and green with age. Lilith laid an offering of dried salmon, and Charlie added lock of hair, since she was leaving them behind: tonight she would belong to the Radio Demon's house and whatever Lares he might possess. What gods would a demon serve, and what would she be required to offer them? 

They went back up to her room, where the maids waited. Walking in, she caught a glimpse of Molly's face looking pale and pinched with worry--but the moment she saw her, she smiled hugely. Niffty only gave her an agitated look and opened the wardrobe. She drew out Charlie’s wedding dress and whirled to face her, the dress's red skirt swirling in a frothy wave. 

"Your wedding dress, miss," she said. 

"Isn't it lovely?" Her smile was all bright teeth. Niffty was peerless when it came to hair and wardrobes, but she performed every one of her duties with that too-big smile. 

"It's beautiful," Charlie murmured. Molly blushed as they dressed her, and the dress was worth blushing over: deep crimson like any other wedding dress, but far too gaudy and enticing. The skirt was a mass of ruffles and rosettes; the puffy sleeves left her shoulders bare, while the tight black bodice accentuated her bosom. There wasn't a slip or anything else underneath; they were dressing her so she could be stripped as quickly as possible. Niffty snickered as she buttoned up the front. 

"No use making a new husband wait, eh?" She looked blankly at her mother and she raised her eyebrows, as if to say, _what did you expect?_

"I'm sure he'll fall in love with you at first sight," said Molly bravely. Her hands were shaking as she adjusted her skirt, so Charlie managed to scrape up a smile for her. It seemed to calm her a little. For the next few minutes, they pretended that she was happy to marry. Niffty and Molly giggled and whispered.

Charlie stood quiet and compliant as a doll, while Vaggie and her mother remained silent as they continued dress, hair and makeup preparations. If Charlie stared very hard at the wall and reviewed the magic sigils in her head, the bustle around her faded. She still noticed everything they did, but she didn't have to feel much about it. They combed her hair and pinned it back, hung rubies in her ears and around her neck, painted rouge on her lips and debated adding any to her cheeks, since they were naturally rosy, and ultimately decided against. Then they anointed her wrists and throat with perfume. Finally they hustled her in front of the mirror. A gleaming, crimson-clad lady stared back at her. 

"You look so beautiful." Vaggie sighed, looking tiredly at their reflections. 

"That's enough, girls,” Lilith called. "Say good-bye and run along." Niffty's eyes raked Charlie up and down. 

"You look pretty enough to _eat_ , miss Charlie,” she said brightly, despite the tasteless or just tactless joke and skittered out of the room.

Molly hugged Charlie and followed Niffty out.

“Aren't you forgetting something?" Vaggie said. Her hands were behind her back, an unusual grin on her face. The grin was devious, and a stark contrast to the tired demeanor she’d had for some time.

Lilith gave Vaggie a puzzled expression.

"Then I guess it’s lucky I remembered." With a flourish, she pulled out a slim steel knife hanging in a black leather harness. For an instant, her mother stared at the knife as if it were a big, fat spider. Charlie felt as if she had swallowed that spider, as if it were crawling down her gullet with prickly legs.

"I had it specially made," Vaggie went on. 

"It's never cut a living thing. Just to be safe, it’s never been used at all, not even tested." It was silly, really, but they _had_ been telling her for the last few months that there was a _chance_ Charlie could kill the Radio Demon and walk away. Magic resides in rhymes and poems, too.

"You do realize,” her mother began, "that it's possible Charlie won't get a chance to use the knife? And we can't be sure it will work." What’s more, Charlie didn’t know if she had the will to kill someone at such close range. Bringing a house down upon herself and the Radio Demon, that’s one thing, but…

Vaggie raised her good eye defiantly, as if her position to remain within the household wasn’t only on the whims of Charlie’s dying wish.

"The Rhyme is true, I know it. And even if it isn't, why shouldn't Charlie try? I don't see how stabbing the Radio Demon could hurt. I'd stab him if given the chance." _Oh Vaggie..._ Charlie thought, _You would..._ But it would show him that she was not broken and cowed, that she had come as a saboteur to destroy him. It would likely make him kill or imprison her, and then she would never have a chance to carry out her father's actual plan. Even if the Virgin’s Rhyme were true-- _a virgin blade in a virgin‘s hand can kill the beast and free the land_ \--trying to fulfill it was still a bad bet, when the Prudensi might never have another chance like Charlie again. 

“Charlie always made a point that I should trust in her, and I do," Vaggie added, as if she were unable to read the fear in Charlie’s eyes.

Of course she didn't understand the fear Charlie had. The fear now was warring for the warmth she felt in her heart for Vaggie’s trust. And the hurt she felt knowing that she would fail her, disappoint her. But still, Charlie often woke up in the night, choking on a dream of a shadow-husband who ate her alive and thought, _It doesn't matter how he hurts me_. She’s the only chance to save them from the demons. Lilith met her eyes, and then shut them tightly as if she could close out the hurt of these moments.

"Thank you for having so much faith in me" Charlie murmured. She could feel the fear and torment pushing at her like a swell of cold water, and she didn't dare meet her eyes as she took the knife and harness.

"Here, I'll help" Vaggie dropped to her knees and strapped the knife to her thigh. 

"I trust you," Vaggie said up to her. Charlie had to smile back. It burned holding in the tears that desperately wanted to cloud her eyes.

"I’ll give you a moment to yourselves," Lilith said, turning to leave. 

"The procession is ready. Don't dawdle." The door clicked shut behind her, and in the silence that followed, from outside she heard the faint patter of drums and wail of flutes: the wedding procession. Vaggie's fist trembled, but she pushed it down and sighed. 

"I just wanted to say... I believe you can do it. I believe you will cut off his head and come home to us.”

Then Charlie flung her arms around Vaggie. Vaggie’s shoulders tightened and she almost jerked away, but instead she hugged back, likely feeling the silent sobs that wracked Charlie‘s body. She was her only friend. It hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. It hurt letting her go, and by the end of it, she could feel Vaggie was shaking with anger for her friend’s suffering.

"You know, that Rhyme is a lie,” Charlie said. There was a pause before Vaggie replied.

“We don‘t really know that.”

Charlie wiped her face carefully, so as to not smear her makeup. She took a deep breath and turned to the door.

Vaggie didn't follow her; which was lucky. Charlie knew as well as Vaggie, that the stubborn girl would try to drag Charlie away to save her at the last moment. Besides that, if Charlie had seen her face again, she would have shattered. Instead she floated numbly down the stairs. 

"Where's Vagatha?" Lilith hissed as she draped the veil over Charlie. The red gauze covered her down to her knees. 

"She was crying,” Charlie lied. Vaggie was instead stewing in anger and a want to save her best friend. It was easier to lie from behind a curtain of fabric.

"Well, whatever," Lilith muttered, adjusting the veil. 

The ceremony was strange. The veil protected her from view, but Charlie could still feel the guest’s eyes all upon her. They knew that she was marrying the Radio Demon as payment for her father's deal, and while they did not know Lucifer's plan, they knew that marriage to such a monster must mean death or something worse. But she was still the manor lord's daughter and he still planned to give the traditional feast. 

Hidden by the veil and the clamor of the wedding, Charlie couldn’t help but feel numb to it all. When the ceremony was finished, her mother took Charlie by the hand and packed her into the carriage-car with Lucifer, and it was then that Charlie glimpsed her mother hiding her own tears behind her hands. 

As the car lurched into motion, she stripped the veil off her head, glad to be rid of the suffocating heat. She rubbed at her eyes, hoping they weren't too red. Lucifer looked at her, and his lip trembled, the first ounce of emotion she had seen a long while. Why now? Why did they have to show these emotions to her now? She had thought her parents devoid of affection all this time, so to see them like this, like…She realized they had been hiding behind regal masks this entire time. 

"Do you remember the sigils?" He said, clearing his throat. She noticed his hands clasped over his knee, knuckles white and tight. It was noticeable, even with the pale skin he had, and she had inherited from him. He wore the great gold signet ring shaped like a serpent eating its own tail: the symbol of the family, and the Magistrate Magnum before the surname.

"Yes." She clasped her hands over her own knees.

"You've seen me write them with my eyes shut." 

"Remember the hearts may be disguised. You will have to listen--" 

“I know." She clenched her teeth to keep back all the tears and even that nagging anger that wanted to snarl at him. 

The Prudensi had come to believe that while the deals of the Radio Demon were accomplished by his unfathomable demonic powers, the Sundering was different. It was a vast magic working, whose diagram was the Radio Demon's house itself. This meant that somewhere in the Radio Demon's house must be a Heart of Water, a Heart of Earth, a Heart of Fire, and a Heart of Air. If someone were to inscribe nullifying sigils in each heart--so the theory went--it would disengage the working from Pridia. The house of the Radio Demon would collapse in on itself, while Pridia returned to the real world. The Prudensi had thought this for nearly a hundred years, and the knowledge had meant nothing. Until her. The Prudensi knew that demon magic and their own were not so different. 

They were driving on a dirt road through the woods now as they began the slow ascent up the hills atop which sat the Radio Demon's castle. Between the tree branches, she could peek at scraps and pieces of the sky, like shredded paper tossed among the leaves. Then they suddenly drove through a clearing and there was a great span of clear sky. She looked up. She could see the sky overhead and the black shapes, a diamond-shaped macramé that sat at the apex of the sky like a spider. People called it the Demon's Eye and said the Radio Demon could see anything that passed beneath it. The Prudensi officially scoffed at this superstition--if the Radio Demon had such perfect knowledge, he would have destroyed them long ago--but she wondered how many secretly feared that he might know their plans and be drawing them into one of his ironic dooms for his own entertainment. Was he watching her now from the sky? Did he know that fear was swirling through her body, and was he laughing? 

Her father was asking her to die for the chance to save Pridia. If she carried out Lucifer's plan--if she trapped the Radio Demon and freed Pridia--nobody would ever be killed or driven mad by a demon again. No fools would make disastrous deals with the Radio Demon, and no innocents would pay the price for them. Her people would live free beneath the true sky. Any one of the Prudensi would gladly die for that chance. If she loved her people, or even just her family, she _should_ be glad to die for it too. 

Once upon a time, Lucifer Magne was a young man, handsome and clever and brave. He was the darling of his family and the hope of the Prudensi, gifted with a strong sense for sorcery magic. He was also the sweetheart of a young woman named Lilith, they married and lived together for years until they were blessed with a child growing in Lilith’s belly. No one knew the circumstances, not even Lilith could remember them herself, but she had looked upon a demon, and Lucifer had found her writhing on the floor with black eyes--a clear sign of the beginnings of demonic madness. Struck by terror at the potential loss of the love of his life as well as the child she carried, Lucifer, who had spent years studying how to defeat the Radio Demon, went to bargain with him. So the Radio Demon struck a deal. The Radio Demon would remove the madness, and prevent any member of the Magne household from being struck down by it again, but he knew of the daughter Lilith carried, and that daughter must marry the Radio Demon himself upon her 20th birthday. 

" _ **And don’t think that you can cheat me,**_ " said the Radio Demon. 

" ** _I_ _ **f** you hide your daughter, I’ll find her, and marry her anyway. Then I will devour yourself, your wife, your servants, and even your animals; but deliver your firstborn daughter to me and your family will live free from demons and happy all their lives_**." But while the Radio Demon always keeps his word, he always cheats at his deals. Charlotte Magne was born, bearing Lucifer’s pale skin and dark eyes, and afterwards, despite their efforts, a second child to carry on the family legacy was never conceived. Lilith’s womb had become barren.

The car stopped with a jolt and a bump. She looked at her father. He looked back at her. Her throat tightened again and she swallowed. As the driver opened the car door, she clambered out of the carriage-car without looking back. The door slammed behind her. In an instant the driver was stepping on the gas and the car drove away. 

She stood very still, her shoulders tight, staring at the house of her bridegroom. They hadn’t brought her quite to the door--nobody would go so close to the Radio Demon's house unless he was already mad enough to seek a deal--but the stone tower was only a short distance up the grassy slope. It was the only whole part that remained of the ancient castle of the Pridian kings. Beyond it, there was only crumbling walls and crooked doorways that stood alone without any walls about them. She sucked in a lungful of fresh spring air, knowing this was the last time she would stand outside. 

Either she would fail, and the Radio Demon would kill her, or she would succeed and collapse the house atop the both of them. In either case, this was her doom. For one moment she considered running. She could be down the hill by another path before the Radio Demon knew she was gone, and then…

…and then he would hunt her down, take her by force, and kill her entire household. There was only one choice she could make. She realized she was shaking. She still wanted to run. But she was doomed in any case, so she might at least die saving her people.

She thought about how much she hated the Radio Demon, how much she wanted to show him that requesting a captive bride was the worst mistake he'd ever make. While that hate still overwhelming her fear and insecurity, she marched up to the wooden door of the tower and banged on it. The door swung open silently. She stepped through before she could change her mind, and the door promptly slammed shut. She flinched at the crash but managed to stop herself from trying to tug it open again. 

She wasn't supposed to escape. Instead she looked about her. She was in a round foyer the size of her bedroom with red walls, a checkered tile floor, and a very high ceiling. Though from the outside it had looked as if there were nothing of the house but one lonely tower, this room had five mahogany doors, each carved with a different pattern of fruits and flowers. She tried them, but they were all locked. Was that a laugh? She went still, her heart thumping. But if the noise had been real, it did not repeat. She circled the room again, this time pounding on each of the doors, but there was still no response. Gone was that feeble rush of adrenaline she got from hating the Radio Demon.

“Hello?” She called meekly. She swallowed past the lump of uncertainty and tried again. "I'm here!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Lare_ ~ A lesser God who protects individual families. Historically, wealthier families tend to have more household gods, I guess, since they must continue paying tribute to them? Each one seems to have a specific duty, like protecting women in childbirth. 
> 
> I'm not sure if the household/hearth gods are Lairs Lares or Lars and google isn't helping, so I'll probably go between the three. I'm mainly going by the audiobook and, well, I am deaf so maybe I'm hearing it completely wrong to begin with!
> 
> I'll try to remember to write in the mythological/religious references in the end notes because there's quite a bit in the original story, although I've cut out a lot, some are better left in.


	3. The Ninth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie meets her husband, and her first reaction is to punch him, then apologize. Oh dear, as far as first meetings go, this isn't the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quick updates are only because I'm artblocked an this is a low energy way of coping with that haha.

No one answered. 

Charlie’s whole body pulsed with fear, because surely in a moment the doors would swing open, or the ceiling would crack, or he would speak from right behind her neck--she spun around, but she was still alone. There was no sound except for her rough gasps as she strained for breath against the tight bodice. Charlie looked down and was mortified again by the sight of her bosom propped up and exposed. Her fear began to fade into the dull, familiar burning of resentment. There were even roses painted on the buttons of the bodice, because the Radio Demon's tribute should be nicely wrapped, shouldn't she? Just like a birthday present, and like a spoiled child on his birthday, the Radio Demon didn't care if he made other people wait. 

She knew that the Radio Demon was different from other demons in that people could look on him and not go mad. But some said he had the teeth of a wolf, the eyes of a lynx, and horns of a ram, so that even the bravest could not refuse his deals. Others said he was inhumanly beautiful, so that even the wisest were beguiled by him. She'd once asked her father, but he had weaseled out of answering, as he often did with her prying.

With a sigh, she leaned back against the wall. Her husband was probably away striking cursed deals with other fools who thought--as her father once did--that they could bear to pay his prices. At least she had a little more time left before she had to meet him, her…her…

Husband. 

* * *

The Radio Demon had never desired marriage. Oh no, not at all. Romance seemed far too capricious and whimsical, even for his liking. However, circumstances being what they were, he’d taken a wife, anyways, very reluctantly. Reluctance, however, proved to be something wholly irrational on his part. 

He hadn’t come to love his first wife, not in the way that perhaps a husband should love his wife, but he appreciated her company greatly. Her name was Mimzy, she was stubborn, and obtuse, and quite a bit more handsy than he appreciated but he found her fascinating nevertheless. He had heard her singing to herself on the day of her arrival, and the enjoyment he received from listening to her sing along to the radio put him into a comfortable, sleepy state. That woman had always fought to get the last word in, and they could go on for hours just arguing pointless nonsense, and it entertained him every time, seeing her struggle.

It was a shame, seeing her face pale and her eyes glazed over in death. Humans were such fragile, short-lived creatures after all. It was only after that point that he realized how dull his life had been, wreaking havoc and bringing terror just wasn’t entertainment enough to sustain his existence anymore. Companionship was a strange sort of thing, that way. And so he had taken a second wife. He’d never even learned that one’s name before she’d met her end as well. The third had lasted longer, but not by much. And yet…and yet…

Here his new bride was, trying the many doors in his foyer. She looked increasingly distressed to find them all locked, and he’d had to laugh at that. A skinny little thing, with dark doe-like eyes and a dress whose neckline was far too low to be decent. She looked tired and stressed, as if she had not slept the previous night. She likely hadn’t. He _could_ come out to greet her, of course, but at the moment he had better things to do. Like cleaning his nails. And attempting to pick out that stubborn piece of apple skin lodged in his gums, rather painfully. He decided to keep watch on her from afar while he tended to his nails and teeth, as she clutched her hands in her skirts and looked like a frightened little mouse set upon by a cat.

She steadied herself against the wall and slammed a fist into it quite suddenly, and she seemed to sigh at that. Giving up already? She turned and looked over the room slowly, deep in thought. Then she did another curious thing in drawing up the edge of her skirt. The Radio Demon couldn’t say he was comfortable with the sight of a strange woman’s bare leg, but he had been married enough times to be a little less repulsed by the sight when he was curious as to _why_ she was lifting her skirt. Then he saw the sheath. _Oh, you silly little girl_ , bringing a blade to strike him down with. She drew the blade from the harness on her thigh and looked it over for an uncomfortably long time. It was razor sharp, and looked brand new, as if freshly forged, a _virgin knife_. 

So that rhyme was still going around, was it? 

She adjusted her grip on the handle, striking out at the air several times, before tucking it back in its sheath and rearranging her skirts. She slid down against the wall, and again, the Radio Demon noticed how tired the girl looked. 

He shook his head. As cruel as he could be, he decided he’d picked his nails and teeth clean enough, he really should greet the little doe. He finally strolled down the twisting halls to where his new bride was waiting in his foyer. He opened the door and found that she did not lift her head at his footsteps. He blinked. Bending down, he found her eyes had closed and her breathing had become deep and even. She had fallen asleep. Rather soundly, too. He stood straight, tapping a knuckle to his chin. He could wake her, but again, he was a demon, not a barbarian. Waking a soundly sleeping woman so soon after she’d fallen asleep was akin to moving a cat who had blessed one’s lap with their presence. It simply wouldn’t do.

* * *

  
Somebody had piled blankets over her shoulders. That was her first hazy thought as she awoke. Heavy, warm blankets. Something tickled her neck and she twitched. 

The blankets twitched back. 

Her eyes snapped open. In one moment she realized that what tickled her neck was a tuft of red hair, the blankets were a warm body, and the Radio Demon was draped over her like a lazy cat, his head resting on her shoulder. He raised his face and smiled. 

The stories weren’t quite right that called him "the sweet-faced calamity," but neither were those who called him a beast, because it wasn’t one or the other, but somewhere in the middle. He didn’t have the horns of a ram, but rather the antlers of a young buck. His smile was wide and would have been something almost charming, if not for the yellowed razor-edged fangs of nightmares. He smiled at her with that strange mouth as his eyes were crimson with cat-slit pupils. Yet, his face had reddish and black hair framing high cheekbones and was stamped all over with the arrogance of a man who had never been defied. 

He wore a dark red coat that frayed at the tails with a contrasting pristine black bowtie and a garnet broach at its tie drawing together the high neck of a red-striped dress shirt. If he had been human, she might have taken him for a gentleman. But his inhuman features were hard to ignore. Her heart was trying to pound its way out of her chest. She'd spent her whole life preparing for this moment, and she couldn't speak or even move. 

"Good afternoon, sweetheart, " he said. She‘d heard his terrible broadcasts before, and his voice in person was strangely the same, only without the usual menace in it heard on the radio. Charlie pushed herself off the ground and sat up. He sat up too, with languid grace.

"What," she managed to choke out.

"You were asleep," he said. "I got so bored waiting that I fell asleep too. And now here you are." He tilted his head. "You were a good pillow but I think I prefer you awake, darling. Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure!” He flourished his hands as if he were speaking to a crowd.

“And what's your name, lovely wife?" 

Wife. His wife. 

She could feel the knife against her thigh, but it might have been a hundred miles away. And it wouldn't matter if she had it in her hand. She was supposed to submit to him. 

"Charlie--Charlotte Magne," she said. "Daughter of Lucifer Magne." 

"Hmm." He leaned closer. "I’ve seen prettier, but I suppose you’ll do.”

"Then my lord husband's an expert?” The words snapped out of her before she knew what she was doing, which was all wrong because she was supposed to be pleasing him, beguiling him. _He’ll like it if he thinks you're helpless_ , her mother had said.

"Your lord husband has had eight wives before." He leaned forward, and she could feel his gaze traveling up the length of her body. 

"But none of them quite"--his hands slid up her skirt in an instant--"so"--she clenched her teeth--"prepared." 

And he had pulled the knife out of its sheath. He twirled it once, then stood to his feet and threw it up at the wall. It sank in almost to the hilt, lodged in the wall at least twelve feet up. Then he looked back at her, tucking his hands behind his back. This was where she _should_ beg for mercy. 

"But just one knife?" he laughed. "A prudent warrior would carry two. Or did I miss one?” He leaned forward, perfectly bent at the middle.

"Will my lady wife tell me the truth or will she force me to check further?" She smashed her fist into his face. The blow was hard enough that he fell over to the side.

“Oh gosh, oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” She caught her breath and blinked; even facing the Radio Demon, her first impulse was to apologize. Then she sprang to her feet, heart pounding, only to realize that the doors were still locked, her knife was beyond reach, and she had probably just doomed herself and her mission. As he sat back up, Charlie dropped to her knees. There was only one thing to do. She started to undo the buttons of her dress.

"I'm sorry," she said, staring at the floor. "I just, my father made me promise to bring a knife, and--and--I‘m yours, so please--" 

“Heavens! Don’t do that, girl! Button that back up!” 

“What?” Charlie’s gaze lifted from the floor, he was facing her, but his eyes were diligently affixed to a wall. Strangely, she knew he wasn’t unguarded despite his eyes being off her.

"Your dress, darling.” He said, almost in a huff, his grin wide. He nodded as she began to rebutton her bodice, likely watching from the corner of his eye. Then he chuckled.

“You don't do anything by halves, do you?" he said. 

"I didn't even get halfway with killing you, but give me the knife and I'll fix that," she bluffed smoothly. She crossed her arms and remembered that she still had more buttons, and the red of her cheeks was hard to control.

"Tempting, sweetheart. But no. If you did that, I’d have to kill you, and I want a wife that lives past dinnertime.” He grasped her arm and pulled her to her feet. 

"Time to show you to your room." He raised a hand. The gesture looked like a summons, but there was no one to see it. 

Something was wrong; she felt it like the half-heard buzzing of a fly in the next room over. Was he summoning his demons? Were they already here? She glanced around the room- And her gaze fell on his shadow. Crisp as the shadow cast by a oil lamp. He had raised his hand. But the shadow's hand remained at its side. _Demons are **made** of shadow_. It was a tall silhouette against the wall, and despite the diffuse light, it was stark black. 

Her throat closed up in horror as the shadow lengthened and strode away from him-if that was the word for something whose paces made it slide across the wall--then its long fingers slithered over her wrist. The touch felt like a cool breath of air, but when she tried to jerk free, it held her arm in place like iron. _Don't look at the shadows too long, or a demon might look back._

"Shadow here will take you to your room." He reached inside his dark coat, pulled out a silver key, and tossed it to the Shadow who caught it out of the air. 

"Show her to the bridal suite," he said as Shadow unlocked the door carved with roses and deer scenes. 

"Bring her back to me for dinner." The door swung open to reveal a long, wood-paneled hallway lined with doors, and Shadow pulled her through. 

"And make sure she gets a new dress!" he called after them. 

The door slammed shut. 

At first, as Shadow dragged Charlie quickly down the hallway, she barely noticed anything but the hammering of her own heart. Every step took her away from the outside world, deeper into the Radio Demon's domain; it was like being buried alive. She couldn't stop staring at Shadow's grip on her arm--it looked like a shadow, felt like a breath of air, but pulled her forward as if she weighed no more than a leaf. 

Her stomach roiled at the unnatural horror of the creature. _Deliver us from the eyes of demons._ That was the first prayer anyone ever learned, no matter who you were and which god you prayed it to. Because anyone, duke or peasant, could be attacked. It didn't happen often. Not one person in a hundred ever met a demon. But it happened enough. 

Charlie remembered the people brought into her father's study: the girl who huddled in a silent heap of bony limbs; the man who never stopped writhing, silent only because he had long ago screamed away his voice. Sometimes her father could make them a little better, but usually he turned them away and offered them enough laudanum to end their suffering. 

None of them were ever sane again. None but her mother, whose life was saved by a cruel deal. 

Now she was in the hands of a demon herself. But with each step she took, her heart kept beating. Her mind remained. She didn't want to claw her eyes out of her head, to chew the nails off her fingers. The scream shuddering inside her was easy to suppress. She could think, He said he wants her alive till dinner, and the words made sense to her. 

She watched Shadow's profile slide down the wall, rippling when it passed over a door frame. It looked exactly like the shadow that would be cast by a man walking one step in front of her, dragging her forward. But no hand grasped her wrist, only a band of shadow, and no one walked in front of her. Except this walking shadow. 

Nobody knew what the Radio Demon's minions looked like, because no one had ever survived meeting them sane enough to tell. But Shadow didn't look like something that could drive people mad with a glance. 

Slowly, she began to relax. She started to notice the hallway. First the air: it had the clear, lazy warmth of summer breezes-nothing like the heat from a fire-though she couldn't see a window anywhere. That was strange enough. Then there were the doors, running down both sides of the hallway. They looked normal at first, but then she realized they were a little taller and narrower than usual. And was it only perspective, or were the lintels actually slanted? How long had they been walking? She could see the end of the hallway, but it did not seem to be getting any closer. Was that a faint echo of laughter in the distance? Suddenly the walking shadow seemed much less terrible than the warm silence of the hallway. 

"Are you a real demon or just a creature the Radio Demon made?" she asked abruptly. As soon as she blurted out the words, she felt stupid. How did she expect a shadow to talk, anyway? 

"Or are you a part of him? Do all demon lords have walking shadows when they spring from the womb of Tartarus?" she went on, absurdly determined to make it seem like the first question had been rhetorical. 

"I suppose it makes sense that things spawned from the dark-” Shadow stopped so abruptly that she stumbled. The silver key twinkled as he unlocked one of the doors; then they stepped through onto a narrow spiral staircase of stone. Cold, damp air washed over her, a little sour, as if someone had once used the room for an aquarium. She looked up-and up, and up. Far above, the stairs faded into the darkness with no end in sight. 

"Does he… plan to kill me with stairs?" she muttered. Then Shadow pulled her forward and she went quietly, because she knew she would need to save her breath. They climbed until her legs burned and sweat ran down her neck, despite the cold air. Charlie stopped caring that her face was twisted with effort and her breath came in loud gasps. The world narrowed to the effort of lifting one wobbling foot after another and not toppling sideways into the void. Shadow flowed on smoothly and relentlessly. Just when she thought she could climb no more, the staircase ended with a narrow archway into a square room with bare white walls and a plain wood floor. She stumbled through and fell to her knees. 

"Please," she gasped, her throat so dry the word was barely more than a croak. He dropped her wrist. With a sigh, she collapsed onto her back. For a while she stared blindly at the ceiling and gasped for air. At last her heartbeat slowed and her breath came easier, while the sweat cooled and dried on her face. As she began to feel better, she noticed that Shadow had knelt beside her, his shadowy form clinging to the wall. His cool touch slid across her face and pulled a strand of hair out of her eyes. She batted a hand futilely at the air and sat up in a rush. 

"I don't need a hairdresser," she squawked. Her heart was thumping again and the line he had traced across her skin tingled. The touch had felt gentle--but he was still a thing, if not a demon then at least a servant of the Radio Demon. Like his master, his kindness was only meant to make later torments crueler. Charlie hurtled to her feet. 

"Come on, you need to imprison me," she said, looking down at Shadow, who still crouched low, a blob of shadow against the wall. He rose slowly, stretching up to stand almost a head taller than her, the same as the Radio Demon. Then he took her hand but paused; she felt like he was staring at her. Now he was a clear profile, the silhouette of his nose and lips and shoulders crisp against the wall. She suddenly realized that although a monster, he was also something like a man; her face heated, and her free hand fiddled with a button of her bodice. He had been watching when she began peeling her dress open. 

_Would he still be watching when the Radio Demon finally_ \-- There was a twinge of pressure, almost as if he were squeezing her hand, as if he were trying to reassure her or apologize. But a demon--or the shadow of a demon--would surely have no use for any such kindness. Then he drew her forward, less violently than before. 

The next room was a great round ballroom. Its walls were arrayed in gold-painted moldings; its floor was a swirling mosaic of red and gold. The air was cool, still, and hugely silent. Her footsteps were only a soft tapping on her heels, but they echoed through the room. 

After that came what seemed like a hundred more rooms and hallways. In every one, the air was different: hot or cold, fresh or stuffy, smelling of rosemary, incense, pomegranates, old paper, pickled fish, and cedar wood. None of the rooms frightened her like the first hallway. But sometimes--especially when sunlight glowed through a window--she thought she heard the faint laughter. 

Finally, at the end of a long hallway with a mahogany wood wainscot and lace-hung windows between the doors, they came to her room. She could see why the Radio Demon called it the "bridal suite"; the walls were papered with a silver pattern of hearts, bucks and does, and most of the room was taken up by a huge antique canopied bed, more than big enough for two. The bed curtains were great falls of white lace, woven through with crimson ribbons. A vase of roses sat on the bedside table. Their red petals had blossomed wide to expose their gold centers, and their scent wove through the air.

She then noticed that to the left of the bed was a great bay window that looked out toward her village. She had barely realized what she could see before she was at the window, her hands pressed against the glass. She could see all the buildings, very small and clear, like a perfect model that she could reach out and touch. It should have been comforting to look toward home. But from outside, the Radio Demon's castle was a ruin. 

Standing here at the window beside her bridal bed, knowing she was invisible to the outside world, she felt like a ghost. She leaned her head against the window, trying not to cry again. Maybe she should feel this way. Right now--no, always--she existed only to destroy the Radio Demon.

Something tickled her elbow. She whirled and saw Shadow sliding back along the wall--it was his touch, she realized. He wavered on the wall by the dresser, and though his distorted form made it hard to tell, she thought that he was wringing his hands. 

"I'm alright," she said, stepping away from the window. Because she had to be alright. Then she realized she had been speaking to him as if he were someone who cared. She crossed her arms. 

"Would you please go tell your lord that you've done as he asked. Or did you want to stay and watch me change?" Shadow bobbed--he might be nodding his head--then flowed away and left her in private. Charlie sat down on the bed with a thump. The room swam around her; suddenly she could not believe that it was real, that she was truly sitting in the Radio Demon's castle and she had a little porcelain shepherdess with a blue dress and pink cheeks sitting by the roses on her bedside table. Vaggie had a figurine like that, only with a purple dress. 

Her nails bit into her palms. Vaggie…This time she didn't cry, but the awful feeling that she’d hurt Vaggie most of all swam through her head. She was the one who was going to die, but Vaggie had experienced so much loss in her life already, and, perhaps, that hurt she would inflict upon her best friend hurt more than the thought of death itself. 

She felt hurt and sad and there, again, that anger bubbled to the surface. 

Charlie wanted to claw her skin open, she wanted to smash the shepherdess to pieces, she wanted to beat the wall and wail. But that would be losing her temper, and hadn't she just seen where that led? So she sat still and tense, choking down the misery and fury and shame. Then she gritted her teeth, went to the wardrobe, and found the first dress her fingers touched, a flowing thing of dark rose-pink silk. She had no doubt broken her friend's heart. She would never see her again, so could never beg her forgiveness. 

But she _could_ make sure she lived free of the Radio Demon, no longer afraid of his demons, with the true sun shining down upon her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Tartarus_ ~ The very deepest pit of the underworld, sorta like the 7th or 9th circle of Hell. I think Tartarus later came to mean whe entiretyof the underworld, but this is the origin.
> 
> The original demon, Ignifex, reminded me of Alastor due to this instance, him using her for a pillow. That scene was the starting point for turning this into Charlastor. Although, the heroine remimds me more of Vaggie, her sister of Charlie but while I could have very well made this a Vaggastor fic, I just like Charlastor more, and so I made tweaks to the characters to fit their canon personalities.


	4. An Unconventional Wedding Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie sits to dinner with her husband. Then, on her wedding night, she discovers that she was right.

Dinner was in a great hall carved of deep wine-colored stone. A column ran down either side; on the left, the rock wall behind the pillars was rough and unfinished, but on the right was a vast wall of stained glass. There were no pictures in the glass, only an intricate swirl of many-colored diamond panes that cast a rainbow of glimmers over the white tablecloth. At the far end of the hall, a great empty arch looked out on the western sky, where the sun’s decoration hung low. Amid the glory of that sky was a dark speck. It grew quickly, until she saw that it was a great black mass, swirling with red gossamer or smoke, easily as big as a horse. It slowed as it approached the arch, its body melting and changing into a man. 

No, not a man: the Radio Demon. He landed with a whoosh and strode forward, heels clicking on the stone floor as the wispy smoke furled and melted into the lines of his long dark coat. For a heartbeat he looked human, and she found him striking. The she remembered the antlers, the crimson eyes, the nightmarish fangs hidden behind a closed-lip smile and her skin crawled with horror at this monstrous thing.

A soft melody enveloped the room from some unknown origin. Classical and played on strings, high and elegant. It sounded vaguely familiar to her, but she couldn't put her finger on the name or composer. Not with other, more important things on her mind.

"Good evening, darling.“ He stopped at the opposite end of the table, one hand resting on the back of his chair..

"Do you like your new home?" 

Charlie smiled and leaned forward, a coquettish pose, which exposed just a hint more of her chest.

"I love it,” she gave, rolling her eyes, but keeping a grin on her face. His smile crinkled, as if he were just barely holding back laughter. Or a sneer.

"That‘s not the sort of trick to work on me dear, I can assure you." _Don't stop smiling_ , she thought, but her face burned as she realized how childish she must have looked. 

"Especially when it’s done like a tween trying to catch the eye of a neighbor boy. Don‘t be silly, Charlie dear. I do hope that‘s not something your mother taught you,“ he continued, as if he had read her thoughts. Oh this infuriating man! As if he had any right to criticize her. He said something else, but she didn't notice; she was staring down at her empty plate, breathing very slowly and trying not to feel anything. She couldn't get offended by something so small, what might otherwise be playful banter. Not here, not now. 

It was like ants crawling under her skin, like flies buzzing in her ears, like an icy current trying to drag her away. Charlie listed off the similes in her mind, because sometimes if she analyzed the feeling enough, it would go away. His breath tickled her neck, and she flinched. Now he was at her side, leaning over her as he said, 

"I’m curious. What advice did your mother give you anyway?" Strategy was suddenly nothing to her. Charlie snatched her fork and tried to stab him. He caught her wrist just in time. 

"That's a little different." 

"I’m sorry-" she began automatically, then caught sight of his unfaltering grin, his red eyes. He had killed countless people, ate them alive. He had tyrannized her country for some hundred years, using his demons to keep her people in terror. And he had destroyed her life. Why should she be sorry? She seized the plate and smashed it across his face, then grabbed the knife and tried to stab him left-handed. She nearly succeeded this time, but then he twisted her right hand. Pain seared up her arm and they both tumbled to the floor.

"Definitely different." He didn't sound out of breath at all, while she was gasping. The man was remarkably light, and incredibly pointy, she noticed in that second time he’d ended laying sprawled across her.

"You might even deserve to be my wife." He sat up. She stared at the chandelier, wondering why she feared she couldn’t complete her duty. Evidently her fight or flight always switched to fight.

“Even you don't think that's a compliment," she managed to get out after processing his words. Her heart was still pounding.

"I’m the evil demon lord. I know it’s not a compliment, but I do like a wife with a little malice in her heart.” He poked her forehead.

"If you don't sit up soon, I’ll use you for a pillow again." She scrambled to sit up. He grinned wider.   
  
"Alrighty then! Let's start over. I am your husband, and you may address me as such.” he set a hand to his chest.

"Or you can call me Alastor. Maybe even ‘Al’ if you‘re feeling plucky.”

"Is that your real name?" 

"Not even close.” He tipped his head back to guffaw, like a lunatic. Then he winked at Charlie.

“Now then, listen carefully, because I’m going to tell you the rules. One. Every night I will offer you the chance to guess my name." It was so completely unexpected that it took her a moment just to understand the words, and then she tensed, sure that his rules were about to turn into a threat or mockery, but Alastor went on, as calmly as if all husbands said these things. 

"If you guess right, you have your freedom. If you guess wrong, you die." Even with the threat of death, it still sounded far too good to be anything but one of his tricks. 

"Why do you even offer me the chance?" 

"I am the Lord of Bargains, Consider this one of them. Rule two. Most of the doors in this house are locked." He drew open his coat, and this time she saw a dark leather belt over his chest, what she initially thought was a stripe, hung with a string of keys. He took a plain silver key from near his heart and handed it to her. 

"This key will open all the rooms you are permitted to enter. Do not try to enter the other rooms or you will regret it dearly. Though not for very long." 

"Is that what happened to your eight other wives?" 

"Some of them. Some guessed the wrong name. And one fell down the steel staircase, but she was uncommonly clumsy, that one." He raised a brow before shaking his head, as if to rinse away the thoughts of his previous wives.

She clenched her hand around the key. Its cold edges bit into her palm, a sharp little promise. She might have failed at beguiling her husband, but he had still been fool enough to give her a little freedom, and she would make sure he regretted that very dearly...

* * *

"In the meantime, sweetheart, I‘m a tad peckish, why don‘t we eat?" He stood and offered her a hand. His little wife ignored him and stood on her own. She blinked as soon as she stood, seeming to be lead by her nose to the meal before her. Tonight's meal was a large platter of pork, and next to it sat a pot of pea soup, and all around were platters of fruit, rice, pastries, and roasted kebobs. He didn't particularly care for the pastries, but women seemed to enjoy sweeter things, so he had made sure that something had been prepared especially for her. 

"How...?" She began to puzzle. Alastor sat down across from her. 

"If you start wondering how this house works, you'll lose every marble left in that adorable little head of yours. That could be entertaining for a time, I suppose. Especially if it's the kind of madness that causes you to start singing show tunes. I just hope you do stay in key. If you can‘t at least do that much it will drive me mad rather quickly as well, and then where will this household be? Oh, what will the neighbors think?!" He began to laugh at his own joke, knowing how it unsettled her. He met her eyes and all she gave him in response was a frown as she took her seat. 

He'd had her knife, fork, and plate returned to their places since he suspected she wouldn't try another attempt at him with the fork tonight and had also filled her glass with wine. She picked up the glass and swirled it, staring at the dark liquid, more of that clear suspicion on her face. 

"It's not laced with blood or poison." His smile flashed; his amusement at her fears was Inexhaustible. Perhaps she wasn't the prettiest, but she was charmingly adorable in her expressiveness.

"I may be a demon, but I’m not Tantalus or Mithridates.” 

"That's too bad," she mumbled barely loud enough to hear. He raised a brow as she sipped her wine, as that statement confused him ever-so-slightly. 

"I wouldn’t mind Mithridates." She continued. "Then I'd get a quick death or a useful immunity." Ah, yes, of course. The story went that before he was a demon, Mithridates dosed himself with small amounts of various poisons every day so that he could grow to withstand any poison imaginable. Was that something that really worked? Humans were still incredibly fragile, after all.

"At least I’m not Tantalus. I may indulge myself with the flesh wayward souls here and there, but I would never force another into it. You are quite safe from that, darling wife." He licked his knife, and watched her twitch. Only scholars read about Mithridates, of which he was a little surprised that she knew of him, but everyone knew the story of Tantalus, the king who thought to honor the gods by serving them his butchered son. His punishment was an eternity of hunger and thirst, tormented by fruit that hung just out of reach and water that flowed away when he tried to drink. No, no. Alastor may be a predator of man, but he wasn't quite the sort of being to force human flesh upon anyone else.

"Refraining from being completely awful isn’t something that should earn you a prize, my lord husband," she huffed, crossing her arms. 

"Or will you think I‘d fall for you just because you haven‘t tormented me yet?" As she said the words, she seemed to realize something. Oh this silly little woman. He could see the cogs turning in her head from where he sipped his soup. ' _We have been married for half the day and he's yet to torment me?'_ She likely thought. Alastor rolled his eyes and cut a slice of pork. Alastor may be a whimsical, occasionally manic sort of man, but he wasn't the beast so many declared him to be.

"Well, I’m already hoping there could be a dinner where you don't try to **stab** me with **your fork** ," he said, chuckling to himself, his eyes glinting when he caught something very lovely. A flash of a half-grin from her, an amused sort of expression. Just for a moment, just for half a breath. Just enough to realize she'd found him amusing and to quash it down...He might have some fun with this girl yet.

"Maybe you should get used to disappointment," she quipped. Alastor snorted, but his chuckling faded after a few more moments. Charlie's hand flew to her mouth after one small chuckle of her own. She seemed horrified to have found anything about this conversation to be amusing, once again, but sure enough, Alastor was getting through to her.

* * *

They ate in silence. Charlie was not very hungry and she did not see the point in pretending, so she soon set down her fork and said, "May I please be excused?" 

"You don't need my permission to leave the table. You're not a child." 

"No, I’m only your captive." She stood. "I’m going to bed." 

And then her heart was pounding again, because how had she forgotten, even for a moment? She was his wife, and it was their wedding night. Even if he didn't want to torment her, he would certainly want to claim his rights. He was slightly less cruel than she had expected, but he was still a heartless, inhuman thing who had taken her captive and oppressed her entire world. 

The thought of letting him possess her body was revolting. She didn't have a choice, she remembered. She watched Alastor steadily as he rose and strode to her side. Maybe he wouldn't wait for bed; maybe he would take her here and now. She supposed that at least then it would be over and done with--but at once her mind treacherously added, until the next night, and the next, and the next- 

"Charlie Magne." He took her right hand. He was using her nickname, the one she had slipped into saying during that first encounter, she realized.

"Do you wish to guess my name?" It took her a moment to recall what he had explained earlier, another to make her voice work. 

"Of course not." 

"Then I'll see you tomorrow, sweetheart." He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles--then dropped it and strode past her for the door. 

"Sweet dreams." 

"But," she said, and hated her wavering voice. Relief should not feel like fear. 

"What?" He was already a pace out the door, but he leaned back in, blinking wide red eyes at her. 

"Already disappointed in your marriage?" 

She swallowed. 

"Well. I had expected more ravishing on my wedding night." 

"Oh, that, of course…” he stepped back into the room about a foot and paused, tucking one hand behind his back, a knuckle of the other to his chin, glancing off to the side, “ I’m your husband, and a demon, but I’m not an animal. Never been terribly keen on those sorts of activities.” 

What?

* * *

The nightgowns in her wardrobe were flashy and showy, in nothing but warm and dark tones, sometimes with softer, cooler highlights. Charlie rummaged through them until she found a dressing gown of butter-soft red silk.

Then she paced back and forth without putting it on. Alastor had as good as said he wasn’t interested in having--doing--well, _that-_ -so why would he have an interest in marrying young maidens to begin with? Then again, he wasn't human. Who knew what he thought about marriage? 

Her head snapped up at a flicker of motion: it was Shadow, sliding along the silver-and-white wall into the room. Her whole body was suddenly alive with tension; until this moment, she hadn't realized how much she had started to believe she would be spared. 

"So my husband needs me again so soon?” She demanded. Shadow wavered a moment and went still. 

"Or are you here to prepare me for him?" She crossed her arms to hide how her hands were shaking. He had changed his mind, after all? He said he wasn't interested, but perhaps he only meant at that particular moment. Alastor could strike her down whenever he pleased, but until then she refused to bend. Shadow stepped away from the wall. For the first step he was only a dark cloud in the suggestion of a human form. Then blobs of darkness branched into fingers and frayed into hairs; they lightened and then grew solid. When he stood at the foot of her bed, he looked almost like a man, living and breathing and corporeal. 

Almost: for he was still formed in shades of gray. His tattered coat was the color of wet slate, his skin was ashen grey and his hair was a deep charcoal color. Only his eyes were colored, such a rich amber brown that she had never seen before, their pupils round and human. His face was the same shape as Alastor's. But without the crimson cat eyes, without the wide smile, it took her a moment to notice the resemblance.

"You..." She was hugging herself now. 

"How did you…” He tilted his head and gestured at the clock ticking away on her wall. 

"Because it's night?" He nodded, pointed at the door, and held out a hand. The invitation was clear. It was one thing for a demon lord to have a living shadow. It even seemed possible for that shadow to take human form at night. But Shadow's eyes were human--and that warm color, like the sunrises of the true sky that Charlie had only read about. For one foolish instant, she wanted to trust those eyes. She started to reach for his hand. Then she remembered where she was, and whose face he wore. 

"A-aren’t you just another part of him? I won't follow you anywhere.” She dropped her trembling hands to her sides and straightened up as proudly as she could. 

His mouth tightened. Then he strode forward; as she flinched back, he dropped to his knees before her in a deep bow of sorts. A pleading sort of posture. Then he looked up at her, his brown eyes wide and desperate. 

For a moment she couldn't move or breathe; she could only stare down at his ashen face and echo the thought over and over: _He’s begging me._ She remembered Alastor, his arrogance and easy power. He would never beg her for anything. No demon would, unless threatened with the most terrible of fates, and she had no power to harm Shadow. She bit her lip as she mulled over her thoughts.

Whatever this creature was, he could not be any part of Alastor. He couldn’t be a demon. Was he a prisoner like her? Maybe? Charlie grasped his hands. His skin was cool and dry, surprisingly solid; she could feel the flex of bones and tendons underneath. She pulled him to his feet. She knew what she ought to do, of course, but she was already doomed, so... When she looked into Shadow's eyes, she thought that if he's a prisoner, then he could be an ally. The Radio Demon betrayed by his own shadow. Charlie liked that thought. She still didn't entirely trust him, but following him was not an act of trust. It was a bet. 

"Show me," she said, "I’m here to die anyway." 

A smile spread across his pale face, just as wide, but close-lipped, without the menace of the razor-edged fangs. His fingers tightened around hers and again she was surprised how human his skin felt. Then he let go and strode away, his bare feet whispering against the floor. A floorboard creaked beneath him, shockingly corporeal, and she flinched. Then she followed him. After all, she had told him the truth. She was not here to survive. 

He led her down the dim corridors of the house; some were lit by pale moonlight slanting through the windows, for the silver-plated moon--as false as the sun--glinted round and full in the night sky. Some rooms had lamps or crackling torches. Some had no lights or windows, or--disturbingly--had windows that looked out on utter blackness. In these rooms he snapped his fingers and a little orb of blue light appeared beside him. 

They went back to the ballroom they had passed through earlier. Charlie recognized it by the gilt moldings on the walls, for in the darkness she could not see the ceiling-and the floor was completely changed. Gone were the mosaics; gone was the floor. Instead, still water filled the room from end to end, deep blue with white-gold glitters--for swirling above the water were tiny pinpricks of light. 

"It's so pretty," she whispered. Shadow caught her hand again and drew her forward. She followed him two halting steps, expecting her feet to splash into the water-but instead the soles of her feet touched something cool, firm, and smooth, like glass. Charlie looked down: the water rippled around their feet but held their weight. So they walked to the center of a midnight lake and watched the lights swirl around them like a flock of birds. But as lovely as it was, she could not lose herself in the sight. 

"You didn't prostrate yourself just to show me a pretty view." Charlie glanced at Shadow. He stared away from her, out over the water. 

"I bet you risked his wrath bringing me here, huh. Why?" He turned to her then, his colorless face looking away for a moment in thought. Quickly and firmly, he gripped one of her hands and pressed it against her heart. The breath stopped in her throat. There was no noise at all but her heartbeat. He touched her hand over her heart, then gestured at the water around them. 

It was a riddle, one he was beseeching her to crack, and if only she could think beyond those brown eyes and her pulse pounding in her throat- And she realized it was not her pulse; it was the heartbeat of a Magic working. She had spent hours in her father's laboratory, finding the four hearts of countless workings, until she could do it in moments with her eyes closed. But that was different. Father's workings had thready little pulses that hammered swiftly until they snapped, like tiny, fevered clockwork. This was a slow cycle of power, like the circulation of blood inside her body, the turning of sap within a tree. And she knew. Her breath shuddered into her. She dropped her hand, staring at him. 

"This is the Heart of Water" He nodded fractionally. The Heart of Water. It was the first step to defeating the Radio Demon. It was the proof that they were right, that he could be defeated. And in defiance of his master, Shadow had shown her. 

"Thank you," she whispered. He was enslaved to Alastor in a way she couldn't imagine, and yet he was helping her fight him. He was helping her, in this strange and terrible house, at the mercy of her monstrous husband, she was not alone anymore. 

"Thank you," she said again, and he smiled. It was a delighted expression, as if he was only just remembering the feeling of happiness, and she smiled back. Outside this room and when daylight returned, she would be the captive wife of a monster. She would drown in her fear and hate, and Shadow would only be his namesake who couldn't help her, and Alastor would mock her. But here and now, Shadow seemed like the original, Alastor the copy. 

Shadow made what seemed to be a reflexive motion with his hand, and it caught Charlie by surprise. It almost seemed to be…Shadow raised an eyebrow, and moved his hand again, as if curious to see if she understood.

“ **It’s fine.** ”

“You know sign language.” A look of understanding passed between the two of them for a moment.

“ **You know it?** ”

“Not very well, I’ll admit,” she said, chewing on the edge of her thumb, “but I learned a bit when I was still young.” Memories of her girlhood dwindled on the edge of her mind, but there was a family in the town when she was young. Neither parent could hear, and so the children learned to speak both with their hands and with their voices. It was an old language, older than her own, but few seemed to have need for it, so she had rarely encountered it before then. The youngest daughter was very friendly and had ambitions of being a tutor. She was just a few years older than herself and…

Vaggie…Her heart sank, remembering that life she had left behind for whatever doom the Radio Demon had in store for her.

“ **You need to be careful,** ” signed Shadow.

She nodded her understanding. 

"You're not part of him," she said, watching his face. He stared back at her, motionless. 

"I don’t think you’re just something he made.” A mere thing would not be able to bring her here against his maker's will. 

“You’re cursed, aren't you?" Shadow nodded, and that set her heart thumping. Somebody who had been cursed could be set free, and somebody who had been set free could think about--What exactly? It didn’t matter to her anyway. She was just glad she could understand him, that they could communicate in some way. He was something of an ally, even if they were, in fact, both trapped under Alastor.

"We're both his prisoners," she said. 

"You've already kind of betrayed him once by taking me here. That makes us allies, right?" She could be glad just to have him as an ally. She’d never expected to have even that much. 

He gave her a solemn sort of smile and stared down below them for a moment. 

“ **I must always obey him,** ” he signed after a moment. 

“ **You can’t trust me because of that,** ” but those words made trust crackle and grow inside her. A demon or a demon's shadow would tell her to trust him, not warn her away. 

"Then I'll trust you as much as I can," she said. 

"What can you tell me about him? What did he do to you?" 

" **I,** ” his hands shook for a moment, “ **can’t.** ” His hands trembled a moment more before he dropped them to his sides and scowled, the skin between his brows crinkling. 

"You can't talk about him? Or yourself?" 

" **Any of his secrets,** " he signed, his gestures small. 

"What can you tell me?" Shadow seemed to think carefully before answering. 

" **You have to find the other hearts yourself. And be careful.** " She tried to think of a useful question that he might be able to answer. 

"Is there time that's safest to explore the house?" 

" **Never.** " He paused. 

" **But at night, he won‘t notice. He stays in his room.** " 

"Why, is he _scared of the dark_?" She meant the words for a joke, but Shade nodded seriously. 

" **All monsters are. It reminds him of what he really is.** " 

"Is that why you're human-like at night?" she asked. 

"Because he made you a monster during the day, but the darkness reminds you of what you really are?" He looked at her: of course, he couldn't talk about his nature. 

"I’m glad," she said. Then she realized how suddenly that came up when Shadow raised an incredulous brow.

"I-I mean. That I got t-to meet you, not that he cursed you or anything.” Her voice became small as she went, chewing on her lip and giving her feet a sorrowful look. 

“I’m sorry you still have to wear his face," she whispered, embarrassed. _Though you make his face very lovely_ , she thought, and wanted to sink through the floor because No! No! She was shoving those thoughts right back in whatever dark cavern of her mind they tumbled out of, barring the door and locking the latch.

"You know what I’m doing. Does he know?" She trudged on, hoping it was too dark to see her rosy cheeks color.

He tried to answer, but the power of the Radio Demon held him back, making his hands tremble and then stiffen until finally he gave up on forming an explanation with them and instead took hers, and looked straight at her.

" **You,** ” he pointed deliberately “ **are their only hope.** " 

She had heard those words from her family a thousand times before, but this time they filled her with tremulous hope instead of desperate rage. For the first time, she was needed by somebody who had risked his life for her instead. 

"Then I'll save you," she said, and she smiled at him, again without even trying. 

"If I have to explore this house on my own, you’d better take me back to my room so I can start from there.” He nodded, and they walked back together in silence. When they arrived at her door, she finally asked him the question that had weighed on her tongue all the way back. 

"Who are you?" His teeth, still razor sharp but less threatening on his being, gleamed in a rueful half smile that crossed his face and was gone in a heartbeat. His eyes said, _Do you think he'd ever let me tell you?_

He shrugged. Then he melted away into the darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Mithridates_ ~ This was apparently an actual dude back in 120-63 BCE, Mithridates VI. He was an emperor in a divided Romano-Greecian Empire and was known for a lot of things. For one, he spoke all 22 dialects of the people he ruled, he supppsedly invented an "antidote" to poisoning called Mithridate of which a component was charcoal, which we know in modern science does absorb poisons. And, supposedly, dosed himself with small amounts of poison to garner an immunity. Highly advise against this as some poisions can build up in your system.
> 
> _Tantalas_ ~ This was a Greek God born between Zeus and a mortal woman. He decided to murder his teenage(?) son, boil his meat into a stew and feed it to the Gods when he was invited to their table in Olympus. Most of them realized something was off about the smell and texture of the stew, and confronted him. He was then cast into Tartarus to be wracked with hunger and thirst, and constantly teased by their presence. His son was put back together and resurrected as a proper God.


	5. Dancing with a Demon and Flirting with Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie goes exploring her new home. The newlyweds have their first dance with a side order of death threats? Or perhaps that's just how they flirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By Fallout Boy 
> 
> My chapter titles can't get any longer, right?
> 
> Edit: If I have to edit this for really stupid grammar mistakes one more time tonight, will definitely scream into a couch pillow.

Light glowed through the bed curtains. Charlie’s stomach cramped with hunger. She squinted gritty, tired eyes and rolled over. Breakfast could wait. There was never enough time to sleep now, with her wedding so close; she was up late every night studying and later worrying, and in a moment her alarm would buzz with anger--

Charlie wasn't at home. This realization jolted her awake, sharp and cold as fear. She sat up, teeth clenched against the memories. 

Charlie climbed out of bed. The wrinkled red silk swished across her skin as she strode to the wardrobe, reminding her that Shadow was right. Alastor must be afraid of the dark, because he hadn't come to bother her at all in the night. As she changed into a simple pink blouse and gray skirt--much more comfortable and modest. Charlie hid her face in the lacy folds of a white tea dress and groaned, knowing another day awaited.

Cautiously, Charlie opened the door of her room and peered out. She saw the same hallway as last night: plain white walls with mahogany wood wainscot, a parquet floor, narrow windows curtained only with white lace. And running down both sides, doors of every shape and color. The air was still and cool, with no lingering laughter to set her teeth on edge. Shadow was nowhere to be seen. Neither were any lurking shadows that might conceal demons. 

She slipped out quietly, hoping to find her way back to the dining room. If dinner magically appeared on that table, breakfast might as well, and it had been just down the hallway from her room, four doors-or was it three? The third door was locked and her key would not open it. The fourth as well. When she could not open the fifth door either, Charlie kicked it in frustration and yelled, “Shadow!” 

The air shivered--or did she imagine it? She spun around, blonde curls trailing her movements. But no shadows moved in the corridor. She was alone. Suddenly the hallway felt like a yawning cavern. How did she know, she wondered wildly, if she would ever see either of them again? Alastor was not human and Shadow was his slave. Perhaps it suited his fancy to dine with her once and then abandon her to starve in the endless, twisting halls of his house. Perhaps Charlie would find food but never see him again until years had worn away her strength and left her weak and wrinkled; then he would come to laugh, and she would never defeat him but only curse him with a toothless mouth and die. 

She let her head droop against the door. 

_You‘re better than this_ , she told herself. _You are Charlotte Magne. Avenger of your people. Hope of the Prudensi. The only chance your friend will ever have to see the true sky. You cannot give up while there is breath in your body_. If Vaggie were here, she would grit her teeth and take it as a challenge if she were abandoned for years. She would pry a wrought-iron slat out of her bed and hone it down into a spear. When her hair was turned to gray yarn and her skin to leather and Alastor came to mock her, she would stab him and cackle as the blood gurgled out of his chest. 

Her friend wasn‘t perfect but she did not lack resolution or spite. She would certainly not give up after trying three doors. Charlie squished her cheeks, blew out a breath, and continued on. Ten doors were locked; five opened to her key but didn't lead anywhere useful. Then she opened a door of dull brown wood, and a breath of warm, fragrant air struck her. 

She stood on the threshold of a kitchen with red poppies painted around the rim of its walls, and wide windows whose lacy white curtains glowed with morning light. It looked as if the cooks had just vanished, for oatmeal bubbled on, sizzling sausages and eggs, while on the table a fresh-baked loaf of bread sat fragrant next to a little jar of jam and a pile of pastries. 

She slipped inside, her mouth watering. In moments, she was devouring the food--and perhaps it was the hunger, perhaps her fear, but it was the best breakfast she had ever tasted. Certainly the best she'd had in years, for her current family cook served up eggs burnt and mushrooms nearly raw. But there could be no complaining, for her mother had hired her, so each morning she would chew through the mess with a smile and thank the cook and chatter about how she loved the eggs so well-done and weren't the mushrooms wonderfully tender while Vaggie just gave her a look that said--

Abruptly, the food was a lump in her stomach; the olives remaining on her plate looked revolting. She swallowed, trying not to imagine Vaggie at the breakfast table right now. She had to stop thinking of her. What was the use in remembering her smile, the clink of breakfast dishes, the way she rolled her eyes--

She pulled back the curtain, desperate for a distraction. 

Pure sky stared back at her. No clouds, no sun, no land or horizon. No anything but warm, blank parchment like the first page of an empty book. No escape. Not ever. Because the Rhyme wasn't true. There wasn't any way to kill the Radio Demon and escape; all she could do was collapse his house about him. But Charlie would be locked inside this house, not even able to run, with the parchment sky to smother her and her monstrous husband and his demons to torment her. 

She bit her lip. Charlie had always known her fate. She had always, always known. It was stupid and useless to be sad now. So she would never see her friend again. So she would never escape her fate. So what! She had a mission to carry out regardless, and it was time for her to start. 

She looked back one last time before she rubbed her dampening eyes and left, and that was when she noticed the door next to the stove. It was barely as high as her hip; when she bent down to peer inside it, she saw a low stone tunnel. It curved away to the right, so she could not see where it ended, but diffuse light glowed from the other side. 

A breeze blew out the little doorway, caressing her face. She inhaled the warm scent of summer, dust and grass and flowers: the smell of free, open spaces. It could be a trap, but if this house wanted to kill her, she was trapped already. She got down on her hands and knees and crawled into the tunnel. 

Once Charlie was inside, she still knew she might be going to her death, but she couldn't feel worried anymore; and as soon as she rounded the curve, she emerged into a small round room and was able to stand up. Could it be called a room? There wasn't even a ceiling; it was more like the bottom of a very large, dry well. The stone wall that curved around her went up, and up, and up until it ended in a perfect circle of cream-colored sky. 

Though the light in the kitchen had looked like morning, here the sun glinted overhead, pouring warmth onto her shoulders. There were no furnishings and no decorations-except the wall on the opposite side had a small alcove, and in the alcove was a bronze statue of a bird, green with age. She thought it might be a sparrow, but it was so corroded that Charlie couldn't tell for sure. She wondered if it might be the statue of a Lar, a household god.

In this room, strangely enough, there was no sense that something was eerily wrong, or that invisible eyes were watching. There was only the warm, peaceful stillness that exists between one summer breeze and the next. A trickle of water ran down the wall on her left and pooled before the alcove; she drew a breath, and her lungs filled with the mineral scent of water over first hallway--the air smelled of summer. But there was no half-heard laughter on the warm rock. 

Without thinking, she sat down and leaned back against the wall. It was not smooth; the stones formed hard, uneven ripples behind her back-yet the tension ran out of her body. She stared at the bronze sparrow, and she did not entirely fall asleep, but she almost dreamt: her mind was full of summer breezes, the warm, wet smell of earth after summer rain, the delight of running barefoot through damp grass and finding the hidden tangle of strawberries. 

At last, she sat up again. Though she had been slumped against hard stone, she did not feel stiff or sore anywhere, but rested as if she had slept for a week. She looked again at the sparrow. This room was nothing like any household shrine she had ever seen--nor had she ever seen a household god without a human face. But as she stared at the little corroded form, she felt the same deeper-than-bone recognition as when a tone of voice, a shift of wind, or the sunlight on a ball of yarn calls to mind a forgotten dream. 

She could put no name to the sparrow, yet she was sure that it was a Lar and this room was holy. Charlie remembered kneeling under her veil, speaking her wedding vows to a statue. It had been just yesterday, but already she felt as though a hundred years had passed. The words of the vow, though, were still clear in her mind. If this was a Lar, the god of Alastor's house and hearth, then it was now mine as well. Shadow lived within the Radio Demon's house but wanted to destroy him. Would the Lar help her in her quest as well? 

At any rate, it had shown her kindness, and she could not refuse to honor a god that had blessed her. She slipped back out to the kitchen and rummaged through the shelves. She had no idea where to find incense, and anyway, for this Lar, it felt wrong. Instead, she found another loaf of fresh bread, its golden-brown crust still shiny and crisp; Charlie tore off two pieces, stuffed them into her pockets, and crawled back to the secret room. There she shredded the bread into crumbs and scattered them on the ground before the sparrow. 

Every Lar has its own traditional prayers. She had no idea what this one's might be, but ceremony seemed as wrong for it as incense. 

She simply bowed low and whispered, "Thank you." And then she left. Because Charlie had a house to explore, a husband to defeat, and no time at all to waste. 

Charlie passed five more doors locked beyond the power of her key, then climbed a narrow stairway made of dark wood carved with roses that creaked with every step. At the top was a hallway with thick green carpet. Three of the doors in that hallway opened, but though she stood in each room with her eyes closed for more than a minute, she could sense no trace of Magic power. 

“I should probably mark my path,” she mumbled, touching a knuckle to her chin. She stuck her key in the lock of the last door before the hallway turned right. A gust of sharp autumn air blew down the corridor, rippling her skirt and lifting her hair. She spun around, tasting wood smoke. Behind her was a plain wooden wall on which hung a floor-length mirror, its bronze frame was molded into countless nymphs and satyrs frolicking among grapevines. Her face stared back at her, wide-eyed and stiff. 

“The house... _changes_ ,” she muttered numbly. It had a will and it changes whenever it feels like it. Maybe next the floor would shatter beneath her, or the ceiling would sink down to crush her--or maybe the house would simply box her into a doorless room to die screaming as the demons bubbled up from the cracks between the floorboards. Or maybe the house was just another subject of Alastor’s power, and right now he was laughing as he watched her panic. So she could not show the fear that nearly rattled her bones. 

Charlie drew one slow breath and then another. If Alastor wanted her dead right now, she would not be breathing. Clearly he intended to play with her, and that meant she had a chance to win. If she thought of the house as a maze, she had no hope. She still got lost in her father's box-hedge maze; she'd never solve this labyrinth. But if she considered it a riddle... The house was a Magic working. And she had trained to master those all her life. 

There is an ancient Magic saying: _Water is born from the death of air, earth from the death of water, fire from the death of earth, air from the death of fire,_ in their eternal dance, the elements overpower and arise from one another in this order, and every Magic working must follow it. Maybe she had to unravel the house's mysteries in this order too. Charlie had no materials for writing. But she traced the Magic sigil to evoke earth on the wall beside her again and again, until she could feel the invisible lines glimmering with possibility. 

Then she laid her hand against the phantom sigil and thought of earth: Thick, sticky mud where she and Vaggie once dug with their bare hands to plant stolen rose cuttings. Thin gray dust on the summer wind. Her father's rock collection: malachite, rhodonite, and the slab of limestone inlaid with the skeleton of a prehistoric raptor. 

To her left, Charlie felt an answering glimmer. She took the first corridor branching off to the left, even though it was narrow and carved from damp gray stone. There were only three doors, none of which would open, and then the corridor ended. She tried the sigil again. Now the glimmer was behind her. So she doubled back. And circled. 

She hunted all day for the Heart of Earth, but she could never get close to it. The corridors always twisted and betrayed her, until she wondered if it was her own imagination that betrayed her into thinking t had sensed something. 

Finally she took a bearing and was able to follow it down three corridors and through five doors-until she came to a door of dark red wood, and her key stuck in the lock. With a short scream, Charlie yanked the key out. The ruddy, polished grain of the wood felt like it was smirking at her. Frustration choked her like a stone rammed down her throat. The bones in her hands buzzed with the need to strike something, but she didn't know which she hated more: the smiling door or her own stupid self. 

With a groan, she leaned her head against the door. Something clicked, deep within the wood, and the door swung open. She stumbled forward into a small, square room of dark stone. It was completely bare except for a small Magic lamp sitting just inside the door and a mirror hanging on the opposite wall. In the center of the mirror was a keyhole. 

In an instant, Charlie was trying her key, but it wouldn't even go in all the way, let alone turn the lock. She traced a Magic diagram for weakening bonds, but that also did nothing. It was a technique she had learned on her own when avoiding the studies her father set for her. He'd never been interested in teaching her anything not directly necessary for his strategy. Maybe he'd worried she would use the knowledge to run. More likely, he just hadn't thought it was important.

She grimaced, ready to turn and go. Her face faded from the mirror. A moment later, the reflection of the room around her was gone too. Instead--slightly blurred, like somebody had breathed on the glass, but still quite recognizable--she saw Vaggie sitting at the table with Charlie‘s parents. A black ribbon was tied in a bow around the back of her customary chair-apparently that was the proper way to show you'd sold your daughter to a demon--but Vaggie was there. And that was what mattered. She had not fled the household as soon as Charlie came to meet fate.

All at once, tears clouded her eyes. They were both tears of relief, that Vaggie was safe and whole, but also tears of frustration. Because she would never again speak with them and laugh and hold them and yet, there they all were, having a normal meal. Like she’d never existed. It felt like somebody had scooped out her chest and packed the cavity with ice. She didn't even realize she was moving until her hands gripped the mirror frame and her nose was inches from the glass. When tears finally began spilling down her chin, she fled the room.

* * *

She stopped in the ballroom that at night was the Heart of Water. Her side ached from running and sweat prickled across her face. Charlie sat down heavily and leaned back against the gold-painted wall to stare at the ceiling, wiping tears away from her burning eyes.

With a sigh, Charlie pressed her hands against her face. There was a dull, throbbing pain against her temple; her feet and calves ached too. It occurred to her that she had not walked this much in a long time. Maybe Lucifer should have made her practice marching through the hills as well as drawing Magic sigils. Maybe she shouldn't have spent so much time worrying about Vaggie, when clearly her absence had troubled her so little. 

No. No. Charlie should be glad that Vaggie could move on. She should be thankful for receiving such a mercy. But all she felt was desolation. She was startled out of her thoughts by a sudden touch against her shoulder. It was so gentle, for a moment Charlie thought it was her own hair falling over. She looked up and saw Shadow hovering against the wall of the Heart of Water, again no more than an unordinary shadow. 

"Time for dinner?" She asked. Shadow caught one of her wrists and pulled her down the hallway.

"I have to say your master's hospitality is pretty lacking," Charlie went on, unable to bear the silence a moment longer. 

"He could have at least provided a map. Or lunch." Shadow didn't pause as he drew her forward. She sighed. As if that mattered. She couldn't even bear to look at his silhouette, despite becoming something of allies with the being.

Then Shadow dragged her through the doorway into the dining room and instantly vanished. 

She was alone. It figures, Shadow has to behave in some sort of disciplined manner to avoid the suspicion of his master. Alastor wasn't there yet; the table was arrayed in glinting plates and silverware, but no food. She dropped into her chair with a thump, her throat tight.

With a sigh, she leaned her head down on the table. She’ll search all night, she promised herself. All tomorrow too, But the words sounded hollow even inside her head; now that she knew the scale of this house, she very much doubted she would find the other hearts anytime soon. 

A static buzz pressed against the back of her neck. Charlie bolted upright, arms flailing. Alastor stood beside her chair, grinning down at her. The static buzz changed to a soft, jazzy tune, one she did recognize. She had this old dance record.

"Something wrong?" he asked. She glared up at him, trying to rub down the hairs on her neck still standing on end.

"I think you know the answer to that." 

"I suppose I do.” He shrugged and stepped away from her, toward his own seat. 

Before she could formulate a reply, the smell of dinner hit her again. Tonight the main dish was stewed beef with apricots. Usually she didn't like apricots, but she had eaten nothing since breakfast, and at that moment ambrosia couldn't have smelled better. She picked up her fork and devoured the meal, apricots and all. Only when she felt a comforting weight in her stomach did she pause and notice that Alastor was watching her, his mouth crooked in a half smile. No doubt he was amused to see a daughter of the Prudensi gulping her food like a common peasant. She set her fork down slowly, embarrassed, wishing she could wipe that smile off his face. 

"Where have you been all day?" she asked. 

"Roaming the earth and making deals." He picked up a glass of wine and swirled it. 

"Do you want to hear about them?" 

"I already know what sort of deals you make. And you don't roam the earth, just Pridia." Though it suddenly occurred to her that for all she knew, he did pass between worlds to stand upon the true earth and look up at the true sky. 

"Ah, yes, you are a daughter of the Prudensi. You know a lot more than the common rabble." He leaned back in his chair. 

"What are you planning?" She asked warily. 

"Marriage. Obviously." He picked up a dish. 

"Should I tell you about the girl who dealt away her mother's eyes, so that she could taste stuffed dates like these? Can't say I was sorry when the rabid dogs attacked her.”

"You aren't sorry about anything you do." He flashed a smile at her. 

"So you _are_ learning, darling wife." 

"I’ve known that fact all my life." 

"Okay then, what have you learned since coming here?" 

"That your house is disorganized,” she said.

"That you're less impressive than I thought and much more annoying. And that if the gods have any mercy, I’ll destroy you." Then she realized she had said that last part aloud. Finally her body picked flight over fight.

"Aw, don't leave the table yet, darling!" Alastor was on his feet, trailing towards her. "The conversation was just getting interesting." 

"Yes, of course," Charlie said, backing away slowly. Her body wanted her to run, but she knew it was useless. "Death is always interesting to you, isn't it?" 

He advanced on her like a cat stalking a mouse. In one blink he'd twirled her by the hand into his grasp, a hand chastly around her waist and the other grasping her fingers in his dangerous claws.

"You want me to worry more about my own demise?" She took another step back and he came with her, pulling her into a gentle sway to the music he played. With nowhere to run--and knowing that running wouldn't save her--all she could do was stare him down. 

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly bother you. Do go ahead and rest in comfortable ignorance." 

"The better to kill me in my sleep?" He pried her clenching fist open, lacing their fingers together.

"It would be rude to wake you first."

And then, he was pulling her along in a spontaneous dance. She felt dizzy with barely leashed terror, but she almost could have laughed, because she was keeping pace with him both in banter and in the unexpected dance and she was still alive and that meant she was winning. Alastor looked almost ready to laugh himself. In fact, his eyes seemed to sparkle with pure glee as he dipped her down.

"But that's no fun for either of us. You could at least bring me breakfast in bed with death." His nose was inches from hers before he pulled her back up to step with him.

"What, poison? So you can show off that you're immune, like Mithridates?" 

"I'm glad you thought of him and not Tantalus." 

"I‘ll admit to a slight oversight." Their eyes met, midnight black and bright red, and for a moment there was nothing but shared glee between them--Between her and her enemy. She felt a pulse of fear at the same moment that his eyes narrowed. Then one of his hands landed on a pillar he had backed her against as he leaned in. 

"Charlie Magne," he said lowly. Her breath, which had been coming quicker in the excitement all but stilled. His red gaze, she realized was almost predatory. Not even close to human...

...But she wasn't looking at his cat-slit eyes or mocking, razor-toothed smile. She was staring at the lines of his shoulder, thin but strong even under his clothes, and then the curve of his jaw that would be warm against her lips. 

Then he chuckled. The sound scraped across her skin like cat claws. She remembered who he was and what he'd done, and she knew that he was mocking her. He leaned up and away from her. 

"Would you like to guess my name?" she found her breath and scowled deeply up at him.

"Not a chance,” she said. Another chuckle. 

"Then good night." And once again he left, and she went back to her room alone.

* * *

The clock chimed. She flinched, then looked again at the door. She had waited here in her bedroom for the past two hours, sure that at any moment Alastor would stride through the doorway to torment her. Shadow had said that she would be safe at night, but in this moment she couldn't believe it. But, time continued to pass. After some time, she accepted that Shadow had been right after all. 

So she went looking for the Heart of Water. She probably wouldn’t find the room, and if she did, there was no guarantee that Shadow would be there to help answer her questions in whatever way he could… But she had barely started wandering when she pulled open a door and saw a thousand lights dancing over still water, one grey figure sitting at the center. Fear flashed through her whole body. She didn't want to face him. Then she clenched her teeth and marched forward, wondering just how idiotically nervous she looked. Though she wore shoes this evening, her feet were still noiseless on the water. But Shadow looked up as she approached him anyway.

She wasn’t sure of what to say, but Shadow began for her.

 **"Come with me,"** he signed. As they trailed down the corridors, everything seemed so mixed up and ever-changing in the day, but she realized she was starting to recognize her surroundings. Did the house quiet to much at night, or was it just because it was Shadow who was leading her? She then realized they were walking into the room with the mirror. She stopped, breaking out of his grip. 

"I’ve seen this." Charlie hated how high her voice was, but she couldn't stop it. She had cried for far too long by that point, a weakness she was always, regrettably, giving into.

"I don’t need to see it again.” 

**"No."** Shadow gestured at the mirror. 

**"Look."**

Vaggie sat on Charlie's bed, clutching one of her old black dresses, her head bowed. Her shoulders shook; then she looked up, and Charlie saw that she was sobbing, her eyes red and a damp strand of hair plastered to her face. Strong and fierce Vaggie, who showed her emotions in such a different way than Charlie, someone who had never cried since the day they had buried the old cat. She was crying into one of Charlie’s favorite dresses. 

_I suppose I’m not the only one to hide things_ , she thought, but she didn’t feel anything. She didn't even feel her own footsteps as she turned and strode out of the room. She didn't feel her back thump against the wall as she sat down. Then she was sobbing again. After a while, she realized that Shadow was kneeling beside her, one hand hovering near her shoulder. She felt the urge to be ashamed, but she was so tired. Without meaning to, she sniffled. His hand came down on her shoulder, cool and solid, and she leaned into the grip. 

"The mirror," she said after a little while. 

"Is what it shows real? Or an illusion?" 

**"Only truth,"** he signed. So Vaggie really did mourn her. She knew she shouldn't be, but she was glad.

"It has a keyhole. It must be a door to somewhere." She looked at him. He looked back at her and then away, fists tight at his sides. So it must lead somewhere important enough that Alastor wanted it hidden--maybe even to one of the hearts--but knowing that would do her no good without a key. 

"Thank you," she said, and for a while, there was silence. She watched Shadow from the comer of her eye. It came over her again how that face was shaped exactly the same as Alastor's--fangs concealed behind neutral lips, antlers just as sharp--but without those gleaming cat eyes.Today, even with those horrible features, she had felt something for that face’s owner. What made it worse was the knowing that whatever had attracted her baser instincts to Alastor, hadn't shared the attraction for Shadow. She couldn't trust him fully, but of the two of them, he was more trustworthy, and yet...

She opened her mouth to speak several times, but floundered. When she finally said, 

"Shadow" the word came out barely a whisper. Then he turned to her, head tilted again. She clenched her hands and watched his begin to move in the broken silence.

 **"You are a hero, you understand? Already.** **"** He signed the words as if she had asked all those unasked questions spiraling around in her mind. 

**"Our champion. For all Pridia.** " She struggled with the sign for ‘Pridia,’ and he spelled it for her.

"You really think I can save you?” she said with a deep sigh. 

**"I’ve been here for-"** His hands stopped; he shook his head and started again. 

**"I watched all his other wives die. I gave up hope. Until you. You brought a knife. You have a plan. I believe you will save us all.”**

"I don’t,” she whispered, her throat tight. "And even if I beat him--you don’t know my plan, do you? It's-" Shadow's hand covered her mouth. 

He shook his head, and then released his hold on her with a strange sort of unamused smile.

**"I still have to obey him.”**

"You'll die along with him," she said. Or be captive with him forever, she nearly added, but he was right she couldn't breathe a word of the plan, lest Alastor order him to speak of it. He looked right back into Charlie's eyes. 

**"I don’t need to live. I need him defeated. No matter the price, I‘ll pay it."**

"Y-you shouldn't--" Her voice cracked and she couldn't go on. Nobody had ever offered to bear a price along with her before. 

**"Rest."**

So she did.

* * *

Restless. Insomnia. Rumination.

Alastor lay in his bed with his heart pounding to a very odd rhythm. Charlie Magne was a funny one. By first appearances, she was a frightened little mouse, but with just a little pushing in the right direction and she was lovely and fierce as a lioness. A bit lacking in foresight, but otherwise sharp as a whip. Oh how he liked this one. This was one of the few wives he hoped to befriend, rather just keep for casual company. It was always so much worse to see those types go.

Alastor rolled onto his side. Yes, just when he got the most attached to the ones he liked, their light was snuffed out. There was a chance that wouldn't happen with Charlie. Perhaps it was the--what--ninth time that was the charm? Charlie had to be different. She was already so different to his previous wives! They had all been unique, but Charlie...Charlie...

He held his hand out to examine. His claws were rough and his hands blackened as if he'd rubbed soot into them. His nails seemed stained a deep red-brown from the blood of so many raw meals over the earliest decades of his rule. It was no wonder his wives had been hesitant to hold and be held by them at first.

Charlie had followed his lead in a dance so well, his ghastly hands aside. With some practice she'd be an excellent dance partner. Her pale fingers had slipped so easily between his own. Very...dainty. 

Yes, he did hope she could come to consider him a friend. Even if that came to be so, humans lived such short, fragile lives. He didn't suppose he'd ever find another wife quite like Charlie. 

He would just...have to savor her short life as much as fate would allow. He should stay at home tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of notes this time:
> 
>  _Lar_ ~ A lesser God who protects individual families. Each one seems to have a specific duty, like protecting women in childbirth. I'm not sure if the household/hearth gods are Lairs Lares or Lars so I'll probably go between the three. I'm mainly going by the audiobook and, well, I am deaf so maybe I'm hearing it completely wrong to begin with!
> 
>  _Mithridates_ ~ This was apparently an actual dude back in 120-63 BCE, Mithridates VI. He was an emperor in a divided Romano-Greecian Empire and was known for a lot of things. For one, he spoke all 22 dialects of the people he ruled, he supppsedly invented an "antidote" to poisoning called Mithridate of which a component was charcoal, which we know in modern science does absorb poisons (activated only). And, supposedly, dosed himself with small amounts of poison to garner an immunity. Highly advise against this as some poisions can build up in your system. 
> 
> _Tantalas_ ~ This was a Greek God born between Zeus and a mortal woman. He decided to murder his teenage(?) son, boil his meat into a stew and feed it to the Gods when he was invited to their table in Olympus. Most of them realized something was off about the smell and texture of the stew, and confronted him. He was then cast into Tartarus to be wracked with hunger and thirst, and constantly teased by their presence. His son was put back together and resurrected as a proper God.
> 
> Alastor is aroace here, and he'd be perfectly fine if Charlie never wanted to hold him, or kiss him, or lean against him to enjoy a warm afternoon, or let him breathe in the scent of her hair while she slept curled against him.......right...?
> 
> This writer isn't so sure 👀


	6. A Dealmaker's Deadly Deeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie finds a Library. Charlie finds her husband making a cruel deal. Charlie finds hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 has a lot of issues. I think I was half asleep while writing my notes and the chapter itself reflects that. It'll probably be quite a bit before I can get it up.

The next morning, Charlie opened a red-painted door and saw a little room with bookshelves lining its whitewashed walls. In the center of the room sat a round table, on which an old codex lay open. On the far wall, between a gap in the bookcases, a bas-relief of the Muse Clio stared at her, her scrolls clasped to her chest, her blind eyes all-knowing. 

It was a library. Charlie bounced on her toes when she realized this, sudden giddiness overtaking her. She grinned ear to ear and jogged up to the closest shelf.

At first she thought it was small, but when she stepped inside she saw a doorway leading to another room of books, which itself opened on two more. It was a honeycomb of rooms, their walls covered in bookshelves. She didn't mean to spend long when she marched in, just enough time to make sure one of the hearts wasn't hiding there, really! But as she wandered the rooms, the familiar scent of leather and dusty paper leeched the tension from her spine. Her library had always been her refuge as a child. Maybe this one would be her ally. Surely in one of the Radio Demon's books there must be a clue about his house. She pulled the nearest book off the shelf and flipped it open. 

The words at the top of the page read, "In the fifth," and then she was looking at the shelf. She blinked and looked back at the page. 

"Of his reign," and she was looking at her hand. She shook her head. She learned to read when she was five; a few days away from home couldn't have changed that. Clenching her teeth, she forced herself to read the whole page. 

in the fifth of his reign tower Upon the most ancient but Imperial to the When Hellena and other Children If not for the Perhaps 

Try as she might, those were all the words she could read, and when she got to the bottom of the page, pain throbbed behind her eyes. Rubbing at her forehead, she dropped the book onto a nearby table and it closed itself. So the book was cursed. 

She pulled another book off the shelf. And another. But every book was the same. She could read no more than a phrase before her gaze slid away; if she tried to read for a page--and she could barely decipher more than one in three words--pain built behind her eyes until she had to give up. She huffed at the shelves. She looked at the books, a few minutes ago they were so comforting. Now they felt like enemies. She wanted to edge away yet at the same time felt a mad impulse to stare the room down. 

That was when she heard the bell. It wasn't loud, but it had a clear, sweet tone that rang right through her head. She shivered and decided that since the library was useless to her, she might as well investigate. The bell rang again and again as she followed its sound out of the library, down a hallway with long rugs with black and red patterns of stags, and up stone staircase. Then she pulled open a door and stepped into a drawing room papered in red and gold. A crisp piano concerto sounded softly as background noise in the room. The windows were hung with wine-colored velvet curtains and flanked with potted pink roses.

Next to her, Alastor sprawled in a plush crimson chair with bulbous golden feet. On the opposite side of the room stood a young man. It took her a moment to realize that he was not a statue, but an actual flesh-and-blood mortal man: young, with ragged brown hair and stubble on his chin. He wore a patched gray coat and clutched in his hands a flat brown cap; when he glanced at her, she saw he had huge dark eyes. 

Was this...?

* * *

Alastor heard light, feminine footsteps entering into his drawing room; the one he stayed in when he decided to let fools come to him if they may, rather than wandering around to find them himself. He gave his wife an amused smile. She wore a look of curiosity as she stepped nearer.

"Hello, sweet wife, I'm making a deal. Want to watch?" 

Charlie blinked, but then her demeanor changed completely upon processing his words. Now she wore an expression of mild irritation, but she held her head high and strode over to him. She had the ladylike gait of a wealthy class, and this made Alastor a slight bit suspicious of her as she halted behind his chair, her hands resting on the back. 

"Who is he?" she asked, her tone resentful.

"His name is Ace, and he's come all the way from Imptown," Alastor gave, his voice as light as if he were discussing the wallpaper. It was just another deal. 

"Good morning, miss," he nodded, as if trying to be polite as possible--didn’t want to anger a demon by being impolite, after all.

"Actually" said Alastor, trying to keep his tone even and bored as possible, "she's a married woman, so you should address her as 'ma'am." Man or woman, he'd prefer everyone know Charlie was his. 

"Why’s he here?" Charlie asked, her cute doe eyes squinting as she asked the question. As if she didn't already know part of the answer.

"Oh, he's come on a very important errand," Alastor gave. 

"The girl he loves--" 

"Diamond," the man muttered, twisting the cap. 

"--is married, so he needs the husband dead." 

Ace flushed but said nothing. A slight crease appeared between her brows. She was uneasy with the situation, but it was something she would need to become accustomed to if she was to live out the decades here with him...if? No, there was no if.

After a moment of deliberation, Charlie scoffed. She leaned over Alastor's shoulder, the small touch surprising him, even. He jerked a bit by reflex. Only a fraction of a moment, then his rationale overcame his instincts to pry the offending arm away from his person. It was just Charlie. He liked Charlie, and he shouldn't mind her touch at all. At least, that's what he told himself.

"So the great Lord of Bargains spends his time planning weddings? That's a bit less impressive than I expected." Then she clapped one hand over his mouth and wrapped the other under his jaw to hold it shut. Alastor blinked in disbelief. 

She looked up and said quickly, "Run. He'll cheat you, whatever he's promised, the price is more than you think, and you’ll regret it--" Alastor snorted through her fingers but didn't move. 

"Didn't you hear the stories? My own father bargained and _I'm_ paying the price. Run while you can." Ace shook his head. 

"But the stories all say the Radio Demon never lies, and he's promised I'm the only one who'll pay. I've loved Diamond since I was twelve. I'll do this for her if it costs my soul." 

"You don't understand, Diamond _will_ pay--my father only wanted to save his wife and child but--” 

"He must have made the wrong wish." Ace had turned his hat into a knot by now, but his dark eyes met Charlie's resolutely. 

"I just want Diamond to be happy, and I don't care what I suffer. So I know I can make things right for her." 

Oh yes, these fools always thought as much. But that's not quite how it works.

Charlie let go of Alastor and lunged forward. Alastor realized she was attempting to push him out through the doorway and away from here. She only managed two steps before Alastor snapped his fingers. Instantly, black tendrils flowed around her wrists and dragged her down to kneel on the floor. She wrenched against the grip, but it was unfaltering under Alastor's control. Ace had flinched back from her lunge, but now he stood rooted to the floor, the panicked whites of his eyes showing as he stared at the dark tendrils. Charlie looked up at the man. 

"You see his power; he's a demon, run-" 

"This has been a strange change of pace, but that's quite enough, dear wife," interrupted Alastor as the tendrils’ grip closed over her mouth. Tight, but just loose enough that she could still breathe through her nose, but her breath came in panicked snorts. Alastor rose from his seat; then he stroked her soft, silky hair. Some of the tighter curls sprung back perfectly into shape as he drug his hand through it.

"It's not nice to scare the guests," he said, patting the top of her head.

"This poor man came so far to be brave for his darling Dianna--”

“Diamond.” Oh, as if it mattered.

“--and you try to drive him away?" He stepped past her to face Ace. 

"You see that I am a demon and therefore have the power to grant your wish." His voice had gone quiet and remote. 

"Are you willing to pay the price?" Ace's gaze wavered between Charlie and Alastor. 

"Are you going to hurt her?" he asked. 

"My wife isn’t your concern.” 

"I'd still like to know, sir." 

"Oh, one of my names isn’t the Gentle Lord for nothing. As soon as you leave, she'll be free to scold me again. The question is, will you leave with your wish granted?" For a moment he thought the lovelorn man might flee. Some did, at the last possible moment. But then he squared his shoulders. 

"I’ll pay anything that doesn’t hurt Diamond.” 

"Then I'll make you this deal," said Alastor, grinning wider. "Your lady Diamond's husband will die today, and you'll see her in your home tomorrow. But you'll lose your sight three days after." Ace nodded jerkily. 

"I don't need eyes to see her beauty." 

"Furthermore, she'll come to you carrying a gift from her husband. You must promise to accept it as your own. Can you do that?" 

"What do you take me for? Any child of hers would be like my own flesh and blood." 

"Say that you will accept it." 

"I promise." Alastor shrugged and held out his hand, a green glow beginning to swirl from it.

"So it's a deal, then?" Ace stepped forward, seized Alastor's hand in one jerky motion, then sprang back. 

"Is-" 

Alastor snapped his fingers, and a previously unseen door to a tiny room swung open. Behind the door was a man bound by similar tendrils to those he'd wrapped Charlie in, only immensely tighter. He didn't care if this man was in pain and screaming in muffled terror along with the restricting pain. His wife, however, he wouldn't dare harm like that.

"My lunch. I'll leave his head for identification." Alastor grinned at the man wincing in disgust. The door slammed shut.

"Go home."

Ace looked at Charlie.

"Thank you for your concern, ma'am. I'm sorry, but it really is best this way." He paused. 

"Good day." Then he stepped back into the bedroom; a moment after, the doorway was filled with bricks. The tendrils grip melted from Charlie's face and wrists and she gasped in relief. 

"I can see you won't be much help when it comes to sealing deals." She looked up at him with those wide, watery eyes. Alastor smiled down at her as if she were a particularly adorable kitten. He waited a moment for her the claws to come out, for her to scold him, to hiss and snarl at him, because she was very cute when she was angry. Those dark eyes would flash, those rosy cheeks would redden and her voice would pitch up just like a mewling kitten. It amused him quite a bit. But she just pressed her lips together and stared him down. Hmm...

"And it seems you won't be much amusement either. Shadow, come get her." Instantly Shadow’s grip replaced the tendrils of darkness and he hauled her to her feet and dragged her out of the room.

As soon as they were out of Alastor's sight, he sighed. He looked back to the door which kept the screams of his next human meal at bay. He gripped the door's handle and just...held it for a moment. He glanced back out the door which his wife and his shadow had left through. A second passed. Then two. Then Alastor shook his head and pulled the door open. He had a show to do.

* * *

_You are the hope of our people._

Not just her family, not just the Prudensi. She was supposed to be the hope of everyone in Pridia, including Ace. However, since her mission was a secret, nobody outside the elite of the Prudensi knew there was any hope. So people were still destroying themselves with foolish deals. Maybe it wouldn't make a difference if they knew about her. What kind of hope was she, when all she could do was watch? She saw Shadow hovering against the wall to her left. Even his bodiless gaze felt like a reproach. 

"Leave me alone,” she snarled. Then she remembered that she was supposed to be kind to him, but he was already gone.

She had done what she could to drown out the screams of the man Alastor tore apart and devoured alive. At least, she would have, had she heard it. Somehow, while his broadcasts interrupted everything musical around Pridia, his own house was exempt from the terrible horror. She passed more than one silent radio as she fled to her room.

That evening, as she sat waiting at the dinner table, it occurred to her that Alastor might still punish her for trying to stop him. He hadn't hurt her then, but he'd been amused. Surely any moment, when she ceased to entertain him--But it seemed she was of infinite entertainment. 

When Alastor arrived, he only smirked at her silence and said, "No rebukes? I expected at least a promise of judgment from the gods." She picked up her wineglass, trying not to clench her hand. 

"You know how the gods are waiting to punish you." 

"It is a pretty puzzle why they haven’t struck me down yet." He chuckled, then took a sip of his own wine. 

"What's more puzzling is why they don’t strike my clients. Though I guess they do a good enough job of dooming themselves already." He had a boisterous laugh at that. 

"I don't know which one of you is more monstrous," she said lowly. 

"You for offering the deal or him for accepting. You, I suppose, since you can't keep your teeth clean of man's blood."

"Oh, don't worry, sweetheart. That woman's husband was a brute who beat her and was unfaithful at that! I don’t think the world suffers from his loss. What's monstrous is that the gift she'll give to her dearest love is actually syphilis. Though I suppose that's romantic as well. Don't poets all beg to die with their beloveds?" 

She stared at him as he calmly drank his wine with only a bit of bread buttered on his plate. How he could eat anything after what he'd done hours earlier... Had it been just yesterday that she’d thought him beautiful? That she’d wanted to touch him, this thing that laughed at suffering? 

"You said she wouldn't pay for his bargain," she gritted out. "You promised." 

He drug his finger along the edge of his glass, making it sing with a high tone.

"Oh, she already had it. It was a gift given by her cheating husband, so it’s got nothing to do with me. He's not getting what he expected, but then, who does?" He snorted.

"By your standards, I could kill you and still be a dutiful wife." Alastor laughed. 

"You can't possibly worry for me, so you must pity him. I would have thought that, of all people, you'd be impatient with those who think they can profit from my deals." She remembered how easily her life had been bargained away, even before she'd been living. Ace had been nothing like them, for he at least tried to pay the price of his bargain himself.

"He wanted to save the woman he loved," she said. "You _used_ that love to trick him. That's..." she swallowed around the lump of frustration forming in her throat. Alastor looked at her, all laughter suddenly gone from his red eyes. His eyes looked off to one side for a flicker before returning to her.

"He knew very well who I am and how my deals work. And yet he came to me of his own free will, to have a man killed so he didn’t have to dirty his hands. Tell me, Charlie, what part of that deserves mercy?" She stared right back at him. His smile was small, but quirked up at one corner.

"And if he deserves justice, do you think you deserve to give it to him?" He took another sip.

"We all must do our duty."

Charlie frowned, deciding she’d had her fill of this for the day. Alastor caught her hands as she was about to leave; his fingers, warm and rough, wrapped around hers. 

"Charlie Magne, do you want to guess my name?" she stared back at him--his shoulders, his lips, the tan skin of his jaw that she had once (however briefly) longed to kiss. She felt nothing. 

"What's there to guess? I already know you're a monster." 

“Smart girl,” he said, squeezing one of her rosy cheeks.

* * *

She haunted the house for hours, until her feet ached and her eyes felt strained from exhaustion. She kept moving, even after her stride had dwindled into a shuffle and she barely noticed the rooms around her. But she couldn't bear to stop, because that would mean admitting defeat for another night, and Vaggie might be crying right now and Ace would be infected tomorrow. How could she rest while they were hurting? Finally she opened a door and walked, forehead to chin, directly into Shadow. She stumbled back, heart jumping from surprise. 

"Shadow!" she gasped. They met each other's eyes and instantly looked away. 

**"I'm sorry,"** he signed, and Charlie barely caught it. 

**"I can't stop them, the deals."**

"I know." She grabbed his hand. 

"You can't disobey him. I'm sorry I was mad--I wasn't angry at you, I was-" she drew a breath. 

"I knew what he did. But I’d never seen it." 

**"Come,"** he signed left-handed, and drew her through the doorway, into the Heart of Water. The lights swirled over the surface of the water, just as she remembered. 

**"You need to rest,"** gave Shadow. She shook her head. 

"Ace will die b-because of-of my h-husband." The words felt like rocks in her mouth, but they were true. He gripped one of her hands, but she hardly noticed, stumbling through her words.

"I can't jus-s-st s-sit here and enjoy the house made by his powers." 

**"If you‘re too tired, you can‘t help people."**

Then he sat down, still holding her hand, so she had no choice but to sit with him. And once she was off her feet, it was such a relief that she wasn't sure she could get back up again. The lights swirled away from them and then swooped down again, their reflections dancing on the surface of the water. It was just as beautiful and peaceful as she remembered. But the memories of Vaggie and Ace stuck under her skin like splinters. She looked at Shadow. He sat straight and still, watching the lights.

"How do you bear it?" she asked, "All these years-" The question suddenly seemed childish and insensitive, and she snapped her mouth shut. But Shadow didn't look offended, he made a motion that might have been a scoff if he could make a sound.

**"I can‘t stop him."**

_But I have to,_ she thought. Ace will die because she didn't stop Alastor fast enough. 

As if he knew what she was thinking, Shadow signed, **"You‘ll be too late to save any one person. He should have died hundreds of years go.** " She laughed shakily. 

"That's comforting." 

**"You're still going to save us."** His brown eyes met hers resolutely.

**"You are our hope."**

"Hope." she looked away, because she couldn't keep the childish resentment out of her voice. 

"I don't even know what that feels like." 

He touched her shoulder to make her look back at him. Then he held out his hand, cupped upward. Some of the lights drifted down to rest in his palm, where they lay still and content and he turned to her. 

He gestured for her to take them. Holding her breath, she cupped her hands, and he poured the lights into them. They felt like a handful of seed pearls warmed against skin--but they trembled as if stirred by a breeze. After a few moments they started to drift upward.

He smiled again and again she couldn't help smiling in return. 

**"You have heard of the stars?"** asked Shadow, a brow raised. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. 

**"These lights are the closest thing we have left."**

"But... they're so small,” she said, her voice wavering. The poems said that the stars were a distant beauty, not a glimmer you could trap between your hands.

 **"The closest we have left,"** he repeated. 

**"And they were the closest I had to hope."** Her breath caught. He said the words easily, as if they were discussing the weather--but to think of him alone in this house, no comfort but scraps of light, his daylight body a shadow, his nighttime body a parody of his captor's-- 

**"Then you came,”** continued Shadow. 

**"Now I can hope for real."**

"You say that," she muttered, "as if I’m a hero." 

**"True-True,"** he signed. 

"A hero would have saved Ace." Her throat ached. If she had only said the right words- And people were dying like this every day. Every day, and she wasn't saving any of them. 

**"You can't save them all,"** said Shadow. " **Any more than me.** ” She let out a laugh that was nearly a sob. 

"That's comforting." 

**"But you can stop him,"** signed Shadow. " **No one else can. That makes you our hope."** She sighed. 

"Say that when I've actually managed to hurt my husband." 

**"You will,"** said Shadow. 

"I'm not so sure" she whispered. He patted her shoulder again, asking for eye contact.

 **"Trust me,"** he smiled, brows raised knowingly. And she did. 

* * *

The next day, she heard the bell again. She stopped in the hallway, fists clenched, and counted off the peals. 

_One, two, three._ She inhaled. 

_Four, five, six._ Exhale. 

_Seven, eight._ She glared down the hall.

 _Nine, ten._ No matter what it costs, she will break his power. 

The bell stopped. She waited a moment longer, then she went on with her exploration. Shadow was right. The way to survive was to realize she couldn't stop him. _This_ day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Muse_ ~ One of the nine inspirational sister Goddesses of Arts, Literature, and science. Muse can also mean "inspiration" so it fits right in with the Inspirational Goddesses.
> 
>  _Muse Clio_ ~ Clio is the muse of history. Originally I thought it was spelled Cleo, but that turned up wrong. She is often depicted holding ancient scrolls to her chest. I only found descriptions of her as blind on Reddit and Quora, but the consensus seems to be "to remind us that if we turn a blind eye to history, we are doomed to repeat it."


	7. It Cuts Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastor realizes. Charlie is somewhere she's not meant to be. She meets Alastor's previous wives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I guess I lied about how soon this would get an update...I am still easing my way back into art, but it's slow going so I have to do _something_ to occupy my time.

Alastor relaxed back against the outspread blanket. He took a deep breath, inhaling the salty air and sighing contentedly on the exhale. With his eyes gazing up into the vast blue sky, striped with thin white clouds that did nothing to shield the blazing sun, he almost didn't catch the movement directly to his left. He lazily turned his head, then sprung into a sitting position.

"What are you doing, bird?! Shoo, shoo!" He swiped at the seagull with its head buried into his lunch basket, and the gull had the _gall_ to squawk indignantly as it ran off. He picked up the basket and surveyed its contents, finding with relief that while the paper wrappings had been pecked at, none of the food inside was tampered with.

"Al? Is everything alright?" A voice called from behind him. 

"Oh yes, darling." He turned towards the gentle waves lapping at the shore, and more importantly the figure standing ankle-deep among them. The sun was to her back and shone through her hair creating a golden halo about her. She was glowing, this bright and smiling woman. Her dress hiked up around her knees and splashing about in the cool, clear water. 

"Come here," he said, "let's have lunch before the gulls snatch it away." And they ate in silence. The sort of silence that is warm and welcomed because those sharing it have a bond so deep, words aren't needed to convey trust and safety. Then as they finished, they huddled beneath an umbrella and he laid his head in her lap while she stroked his hair. He grinned up at her and poked at the tip of her nose. She rubbed at her nose and gave him an unamused look, but her black eyes were smiling down at him, a look shared by him of that familiar safety, trust...

And _love_. 

* * *

Alastor's eyes came open abruptly. He shut them just as quickly when the light assaulted them, allowing them to crack open, adjust to the light of dawn and the lamps in his room. Then he sat up and rubbed a hand down his face. He was not at some shoreside retreat beneath the expansive dome of blue sky, he was in his bedroom at the castle. His wife's lap hadn't been supporting his head, only his pillow.

He had never been one to dream often. Rare were the good dreams and rarer still were those he remembered upon waking. He was often left with feelings and ghosts of images, the smell of blood but this one was one of those he recalled for what was it's entirety. A quaint and idyllic dream with an impossible setting, dishonesty at it's finest. Except... _except for the feelings._

Trust. Safety. _Love_.

Love. Not just the friendly sort, either. He wasn't sure how he knew it, but he knew that it was different for Charlie. Different from the admiration and amusement he'd experienced for the favorites of his previous wives. It didn't make any sense, but then in his boredom he'd read a good many poems of romance and love, explaining the great mixed-up mess of feelings that came with being in love, and he had never understood. Even now, he didn't understand anything but the simple fact that he was in love with Charlie, and it both did and didn't make any sense to him.

He loved her as a husband should love his wife. He had for some time, it seems. He wanted nothing more than to protect and spend however much time as she would allow with her. And if she didn't allow? Just watching her from a distance would have to suffice.

* * *

Only a fool would feel safe in the house of the Radio Demon. But as the days fell into a simple pattern, Charlie started to lose her fear. Every evening she dined with Alastor. No matter what she said, he laughed and mocked her in return. At every dinner, he asked her if she wanted to guess his name, and she said no. Then sometimes he kissed her hand or cheek--but he never followed her to her room. Though sometimes she was uncomfortably aware of the exact space between them, or his touch lingered on her skin after he had gone, she never felt the strange current of desire again. 

Day and night, she was free to explore the house-and she went everywhere that she could, for her key opened close to half the doors. She found a rose garden under a glass dome; the roses formed a labyrinth in which she always got lost, and yet--according to the clock at the door--she would always stumble out again in exactly twenty-three minutes. She found a greenhouse full of potted ferns and orange trees. The air was thick with the warm, wet smell of earth. Bees hummed through the air, the glass walls were frosted with condensation. 

Charlie found an octagonal room whose walls were covered in paintings of wetlands and tossing waves, and the air always smelled of salt, and no matter which way she turned, the door was always directly behind her. Every day she went to look in the mirror and see Vaggie, and most nights she visited the Heart of Water at least briefly, to walk on the water and watch the lights. Usually Shadow was there too; there wasn’t much he was permitted to say, but they would sit in companionable silence. He often drew the lights down; sometimes he gave them to her, sometimes wove them into lacy patterns around them, in the air or trembling on the surface of the water, she watched and said very little. 

At those times, she could almost forget her mission, and she felt no anger festering in her heart. It was the only peace she knew now, and she didn't want to lose it. Charlie desperately wanted not to lose it. Whenever the knot of emotions in her chest grew too tight, she jumped up and practiced racing from the Heart of Water to her bedroom at a dead run. When the time came, she would have to write all the sigils quickly; as soon as one heart failed, Alastor would surely notice and try to stop her. 

She got faster. She learned to race through the hallways and pick all the right doors back to her bedroom while barely even looking, and she arrived still breathing easily. And once she was in her bedroom--far enough from any of the hearts that she didn't have to worry about an accidental reaction--she practiced the sigils, training herself to draw them not just accurately but swiftly, until the motions became like a dance. But no matter how she searched, she never found a trace of the other hearts. 

Yet no matter what, Alastor seemed either unaware of her searching, or uncaring, but he was never angry. 

Until one morning, five weeks after she arrived, when she tried a new door and walked into the foyer where she had first met Alastor. Then it occurred to her that she was still a virgin, and her virgin knife--still never used to cut into flesh--was right here, albeit embedded twelve feet up in the wall. She had never believed in the Rhyme before. In addition, when Alastor had taken the knife away from her, he had treated it like a joke, not the only weapon that could destroy him. 

But then, Charlie suspected he would treat being cast into the abyss of Tartarus as a joke. However much he had laughed, he had gotten the knife away from her at once. That didn't prove that the Rhyme was true… but he hadn't punished or imprisoned her for her previous attempt at stabbing him, which meant it wouldn't hurt to try. It took her the whole morning to get to the knife. 

The house did not seem to contain any kind of ladder, so she had to find furniture suitable for stacking, and that day she couldn't find a single room with tables, only chairs and stools. It was some rather precarious-looking scaffolding that she built, but it held when she climbed it, and finally she was able to grip the hilt of her knife again. She hoped she could force herself to overcome her fear and weakness so that she had the courage to stab him as she had tried those long weeks ago at dinner. As much as she didn't want to stab him, she was clearly capable.

She tugged at the knife. It didn't move. She tugged again, harder, and then there was the tiniest bit of give. With a grunt, she gave the knife a sudden jerk--and it came out as if it had never been stuck. She wobbled a moment, then fell over backward--Into a pair of arms. 

The shock was enough to daze her for a moment, and in that moment Alastor set her on her feet, plucked the knife from her hands, hid it somewhere on his person, and raised an eyebrow at her. 

"I'm starting to wonder if I should ever leave you alone," he said mildly, dropping a hand to her shoulder. She stiffened. 

"Then don't," she said, blinking.

"Stay right here and never make another deal." 

"Oh, you're that desperate to be with me?" He leaned forward, his hand still on her shoulder. 

"If you wanted a kiss, you only needed to ask." His touch was light, but she felt every finger and claw on her all the same. 

"I'm that desperate to stop you," she said, but the desire for him was back as if she’d never seen what he was capable of doing. Damn her racing heart, for it wasn't racing with fear.

"Desperate enough to kiss me? You are in a terrible state." _It’s only because he seems to have no understanding of personal space,_ Charlie thought. But maybe that was a lie.

"You really want to kiss me, don't you?" For the first time she had seen it, his brows knit and if she wasn't mistaken, his face had colored, ever-so-slightly. He swallowed thickly.

"My dear, I thought I'd made that abundantly clear." And then the flush was gone from his face, and his expression was returned to that one he wore to tease and mock her.

This laughing, crimson-eyed creature might be terrible, but... she realized suddenly that he wasn‘t wearing his coat, just a black vest and a customary red shirt, and she could tell that his shoulders were so _broad_ where she had assumed it was just his coat’s padding, but she also saw the belt of keys across his chest. Alastor wasn’t the only one who could turn people’s words against them. 

"You ridiculous demon...You boast to me every day about the people you kill," she said, trying to gauge the location of the keys while keeping her eyes fixed on his. There were two in easy reach. 

"Of course I’m desperate." She took a breath.

"Then," she said, “suppose I did ask you?” 

"Then," he said, "this." Then he pressed his lips against hers. He was evil. He wasn't even human. She should have been disturbed, but just like the last time she felt _something_ , she couldn't help herself. Charlie managed to slide a hand up his chest, get two keys off their strap, and clench her hand around them; then she dissolved into the feeling, and kissed him back just as eagerly. He was warm and surprisingly gentle despite the eagerness. When he pressed his body closer and pressed his lips firmer against hers, her knees wobbled, nearly all strength leaving her legs.

The bell tolled in the distance. She barely noticed it--then Alastor let go of her. She wobbled backward until she hit the wall. His mouth twisted into an unamused smile and he set his hands on his hips with a muttered "Of course."

"Some poor soul has called for me." He bowed. "Until later, my darling wife." 

Still leaning against the wall, Charlie glared after him as he left, although her fingertips brushed against her lips. It was shameful that his kiss could affect her like this. It was humiliating that he knew it. Then she looked down at the two keys she had stolen. One of them was golden, its hilt shaped into a roaring lion's head; the other was plain steel. Her lips curved in a grin of her own. Let him have his little victory. She was about to go exploring.

* * *

Of course, she went straight to the mirror room. However, neither of the keys would even fit into the keyhole at the center of the mirror, so she set out to find a new door. Today the house seemed to look kindly on her quest: she found room after room she had never seen before, and door after door she had never opened. Nevertheless, none of the new doors would open to her new keys. 

Finally, she found a room full of empty golden birdcages hung from tree-shaped iron racks in a forest of delicate captivity. Charlie saw no extra doors, and she turned to leave-but then she heard a chitter of birdsong, so faint that for a moment she thought she had imagined it. She remembered the sparrow Lar. Vaggie had once called her silly to see omens in every flight of birds, but she still turned and looked over the room one more time. Then she saw a door in the far left corner of the room, behind the biggest pile of cages, where there had been only empty wall a moment ago. 

It was such a normal little door. Short and narrow, barely large enough for her to fit through without bending, made out of wood and painted pale gray. For a heartbeat she stared at it without fear. Then her skin prickled as it always did when she saw one of the house's transformations. This was not the most uncanny she had seen, but it still brought back that helpless, falling sensation of knowing that the house could kill her anytime it pleased. But it hadn't pleased. 

Most likely, Alastor would not allow it to do so. If the sparrow had meant to make her turn around, then…that put it ahead of the house. Charlie picked her way through the birdcages to the door and tried her key. It didn't work. Then she tried the steel key, and it started to turn but caught. So she tried the gold key. The lock clicked and the door swung open. She stepped inside. 

The first thing she noticed was the smell of wood and dusty paper. The smell of her father's study. This room seemed to be a study too, though grander than any she had ever seen; it was round, paneled in dark wood, with swirling dark blue mosaics on the floor. Several tables piled with books, papers, and curios stood around the edges of the room with short bookcases between them. The ceiling was a dome, painted parchment like the sky; the lamp even hung from a wrought-iron frame shaped like the Demon's Eye. Around the base of the dome was written in gold letters **AS ABOVE, SO BELOW** -the great principle of Magic workings. However, it was the center of the room that drew her eyes, for there was a great circular table, covered in a glass dome, on which sat a model of Pridia. 

She approached it slowly; it was so delicately detailed, she felt it would crumble if she breathed, despite the glass. There was the ocean, crafted of tinted glass so that it glimmered like real water. There were the southern mountains, pocked with entrances to the coal mines; there was the river Satana, there the capital city of Wrathid, still half-ruined by the great fire twenty years ago. There was her own village, sitting on the southern edge, near to the crumbled ruin that Alastor’s house looked like from the outside. She leaned closer. 

Through some trick of the glass, as she focused on her village, it grew larger, she saw shingle and tile roofs, the fountain in the main square, her own house, and the rock where her marriage ceremony was held. It was all perfect, down to the last detail, and she stared at her home until the magnification made her head ache. She turned away from the model. On the nearest table sat a little chest of red-brown cherry wood. It had no lock, only a simple latch; no decorations but a tiny gold inscription on the lid. She picked it up and peered at the glittering miniature cursive: **as within, so without**. Another Magic concept. 

" _ **What are you doing**_?" she slammed down the chest and spun around. Alastor was at the door; she barely had time to gasp before he was at her side, gripping her arms like iron, his face only inches from hers. 

"What did you think you were doing?" 

"E-exploring the house,” Charlie said shakily. “If I'm your wife-" 

Her voice died. The red in his eyes had changed. Black surrounded his fiery irises; their cat slits tilting and wavering in a wholly unnatural way, like radio dials. Crackling assaulted her ears both of a radio and of his antlers branching out into new, uneven points. She realized how foolish she had been to feel anything but terror for him. She had remembered that he was her enemy, but she had forgotten that he was a danger, her doom and likely her death. 

"Do you think you’re safe with me?" he snarled, with that grin stretched into a wide sneer.

"No," she whispered. 

"You're just as foolish as the others. You think you’re clever, strong, special. You think you're going to win," Abruptly he turned and dragged her out of the room. "I knew who your father was when he came to me.” His voice was icy calm now, each word bitten off with precision. 

"Lucifer Magne, youngest magister of the Prudensi. When he asked for my help, he could barely say the words for shame, but he didn't hesitate an instant when he sold you away." They turned down a stone corridor she had never seen before.

"Of course he was a fool to think he could make a deal with me and win. But his plan to send you as a saboteur wasn’t _so_ foolish." Charlie squinted, confused. What was he..? His voice lacked his usual jovial tone, and so she knew he wasn’t making a joke of her father’s plan. If he knew it, even some part of it, wouldn’t it be foolish in his mind? He stopped and shoved her against the wall. 

"You were sent here to die. You weren‘t needed. Did you know that your father only asked that your mother be saved? He said, specifically, ‘ _even if she loses the baby, I don‘t care, I just want Lilith to live,’_ ” he declared, mocking her father’s voice. She didn't know that. Was he speaking the truth? Whether it was true or not, it cut her deeply.

“You weren't wanted, and they sent you here because they knew you would never come back." She couldn't stop the tears from sliding down her cheeks, but she glared back at him as best she could with her jaw trembling.

"I don’t care about that,” she lied, “why do you need to tell me?" 

His red eyes--back to their normal appearance--flickered away from her and his grin twitched. 

"The only way you see tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that, is if you do _exactly_ as I tell you. Or you’ll die just as quickly as all my other wives." He reached past her; she heard a click and realized that she was leaning against a door, not the wall. The door swung open behind her and she stumbled back into cool darkness until she hit the edge of a table. 

"Think on it awhile," said Alastor, and he slammed the door. For one moment she thought she was left in darkness; then, as her eyes adjusted, she realized that faint light filtered in through a slit of a window set high in the wall. Charlie still couldn't make out much. The air was cold. She turned, groping at the table; it was stone, not wood. Her fingers found cloth, then something soft and cold. She shuddered, but her mind refused to recognize it until she groped farther and her fingers slid past teeth into a cold, wet mouth. 

With a scream, she bolted back against the door. She rubbed her hand viciously against her skirt, but the fabric could not wipe away the memory of touching the dead girl's tongue. The dead wife's tongue. Because now her eyes were growing truly accustomed to the light, and she could see all eight of them, laid out on their stone blocks. And for what?

When Charlie was ten, she and Vaggie found a dead raccoon while playing in the woods. It was half-buried under a drift of leaves; they didn't realize until Vaggie poked it that it was dead and swollen. It released a noxious stench that made her run away wailing some yards before looking back to Vaggie, who had fallen over, and now sat choking and gagging with horror. Now, as her breath came quicker and quicker, she thought she could smell that stench again, just a hint of it floating on the cold, still air. 

Her nails dug into her arms, her harsh gasping the only noise in the _dead_ silence. Alastor would put her here. When she made her final mistake, he would kill her and put her in this room, and she would lie on the cold stone with her dead mouth hanging open. With a great effort, she took a deep, slow breath. And let it out in a great shriek. 

She slammed her fist into the wall, then turned and kicked the door twice, still yelling. Though the door shook on its hinges, it held fast. But when she fell silent, panting for breath, she was no longer panicking. She was furious. All her life, she had meant to hate the Radio Demon, but only in the way that one hates plague or fire. He was a monster who had destroyed her life, who oppressed her entire world, but he was still only a story. Now she had seen him, dined with him, kissed him. She had watched him make his horrendous deals. She had a name for him, even if it wasn’t his true name. So she could truly hate him. She hated his eyes, his laugh, and his mocking smile. She hated that he could kiss her, kill her, or lock her up with that smile. Most of all, she hated that he had made her want him. 

Crouching in the darkness, she realized that she had enough darkness in her heart to kill him when the time came. And she would enjoy it. She felt at her bodice. The golden key she had stupidly left in the door handle, where Alastor had doubtless reclaimed it; but the steel key was still safely lodged against her skin, waiting for a lock. She made herself search the walls of the stone room by touch, but there was only one door, and no amount of pounding would make it budge. 

So finally she settled back against the door to wait. Alastor would probably let her out tomorrow, when he thought she would be thoroughly frightened. She would pretend to be so, and get back to exploring as soon as his back was turned. She had just started to doze off when the rattle of the lock snapped her awake. In an instant, she was on her feet and turning to face the opening door. But it wasn't Alastor who stood on the other side; it was Shadow. 

**"I'm sorry."** He touched her cheek, she instinctively pulled away then apologized softly.

 **"I came as soon as I could."** She had been ready to greet Alastor with hatred and courage, but Shadow's gentle sorrow left her shuddering as she remembered the terror of those first minutes.

"Thank you," she breathed gratefully.

"I'm all right. I'm all right." She swallowed, her throat tight. 

"Why does he keep them here?"

Shadow shrugged, **"Look,"** he pointed, pushing her to turn. He raised his hand and light gleamed into the room. In the sudden illumination she could see that the girls were all young, all lovely, all laid out with their hands crossed over their chests, coins upon their eyes and flowers in their hair. Their bodies were so pristine, she might have thought they were sleeping--if their faces hadn't had the pale, waxy emptiness of death. None of them had begun to decompose though decades had passed.

 **"He sends me down here too, sometimes,"** Shadow signed slowly.

**"To meditate, he says."**

"On what?" she demanded. She could almost hear the laughing lilt of Alastor's voice as he decreed the torment, and she wished he were there so she could strike him. 

"The depths of his evil? Everyone knows that already." 

Shadow shifted slightly away from her: **"On my failure."**

She was about to protest that it was not his fault, however he had ended up a prisoner. It was surely not his place to defeat a demon that could sunder the world, that had ruled Pridia since before he was born--But as Charlie stared at the colorless lines of his shoulder and turned-away face, she remembered him showing her the lights. _The closest thing we have left._

He had seen the stars. 

He was not merely a luckless soul whom Alastor had tricked at some point in the last hundred or so years; he was a captive from the Sundering, spoils of that initial war. 

"He keeps you," Charlie whispered. 

"He keeps you as a trophy. Like those poor girls." Charlie had assumed that Alastor had forced Shadow to wear the face of his master. But maybe it was the other way around: maybe Alastor had chosen to wear his captive's face in cruel mockery. And of all possible captives, she could think of only one whom he might hate that much. Her heart thudded. Everybody said that the Radio Demon had destroyed the line of kings. The words forming on her tongue felt insane--but here, in this insane house, they made sense. 

"The…last prince...he didn't die.” 

Shadow turned, his amber brown eyes meeting hers; his hands started to lift, but again his master's power stopped him. He swallowed, and stared at her as if hoping his eyes could convey everything. Maybe they did; as she stared into those eyes, she felt sure that he was the last prince of Pridia, who had been captive in this house since the Sundering. 20 years of waiting for marriage had left her nervous and kind, but five weeks with Alastor had turned her bitter and cruel. Somehow Shadow kept the kindness she once had, still trying to help every one of Alastor's victims, even when he knew that he would fail. 

"You--" she started, and then he wrapped her in a tight hug. It felt like he was seeking comfort from her, though Charlie couldn't imagine why. But it was the least she could do for him, so she laid a hand on his shoulder, and hugged him back. It felt warm, and soft. It reminded her of when she was young and her parents were more open, of every time Vaggie’s enormous draft horse made her nervous, and she would cling to her when it had snorted.

"Shadow?" She said softly when the hug lasted a moment too long. She tugged away from him once, twice, three times.

"I need to go. I-I still have to find the other hearts." Shadow released her then and tilted his head. 

**"He's right about one thing,"** he signed. **"This house has many dangers. I can’t save you from most of them.”** She nodded.

"I wasn't born to be saved."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Tartarus_ ~ The very deepest pit of the underworld, sorta like the 7th or 9th circle of Hell. I think Tartarus later came to mean whe entiretyof the underworld, but this is the origin.
> 
> You shouldn't trust the shadows.


End file.
